into
a song field
with many solutions
your mouth
opens
your sisters
slap water
on the off beat
apprising
the light
their bare feet
beat
over oyster beds
or push through cutting grass
into uplands
where cloudlines dream
on the haze of
mauve mountains
oceans desire
to lap over them
hoons in the valleys
rejoice
their flatulent V8s
boast
of angst and a past
the felt
tips of evening
finger the family the
notes
in their heads
I have not heard
or truly seen
the silver wattles
their generous
drifts
or wallabies in the night wind
dim among stars
only ours
for the naming