A photo and a Poem, a moon, 9 Feb


The moon balancing on her fulcrum, an ancient shape,
a shallow Sumerian bowl, silver not clay, an ancient piece
of Earth chipped off and spun out to give us life.

The lights of Narnia, a new Country not Gumbaynggirr,
a new estate packing houses, the trees gone, we start climbing
to Gondwana Rainforests. The only stopping point, the sun.


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