(for Stephen Scourfield)

A Wandjina moon levitates
Above the rocky river’s tree-line.
Dusty with history and starlight,
Ghosts of the Duracks muster shadows.
Modernity is a road-train’s
Decibels in the acoustic gorges.
Then, a cinnamon raptor rises on
Thermals of luminous silence,
The bird’s shadow climbing,
The landscape’s endless high narrative.

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