Our star is hitting the Koala sign, they are around
but scarce, and we fight to protect their habitat.
Does everything else begin in a garden as in the Bible,
before the Big Bang, before I get down to the estuary?
The garden gives us breakfast today, and colour, ginger
grown from seeds borrowed from the Botanic Garden.
The sea is curdled, its strength magnificent, its weight
unknown, its curve of tongue licks an ephemeral creek.
The sweep of beach is old-fashioned white, strewn
with tree parts, a dragonfly sneaks into the picture.
The Paperbark swamp has reclaimed its wet bedding
without an understory, it survives on its reflections.
