Two Poems
WHEATBELT WILLY-WILLY
No matter how the fingers stretch
and splay, there remains
a depression in the palm of the hand.
Just so the sparsely-stubbled
wheatbelt paddock dips
indecisively beyond the far fence.
And in the hollow, the wind
is dancing like a gypsy, whirling
in her red skirts, her auburn hair.
THE GRAVITY OF THE SLIGHT
Gravity can grab
even a thing as slight as
a dragonfly wing.
Look, the end of the still blade
is dipping towards the earth.
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