Yellow Gully

By | 15 September 2022

in childhood
we read the landscape
in a different language

rode the curves
of yellow gully
alive with wattle

and it was flower nectar
tapped onto open palms
licked clean

my brother armed with
spear and arrow and story
and fists full of hair

my pockets dragged with
moss and river rocks and rhyme

and the clouds full of song
admitted that everything began
with the sun at which we squinted

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