glowworm grotto
in the black dark
we assemble arrayed opposite
a bank of cold blue glowing embers
the little dots shine steady
excepting those reflected in the stream
which waver in the wind
gazing at the electric blue
Mind begins to craft
its own Dreamtime story:
stars sky earth fire song water
but that’s not enough –
love loss betrayal remorse punishment
all leading to
the quiet blue bank
gifted to us tonight
Turtle Tears
damp tracks mark the turtle’s
boxy leathery face
I ask the ranger about these secretions
turtle tears she says
then gives every explanation possible
that holds no feeling
someone asks
are we bothering her?
as another egg drops into the pile
oh no the ranger answers
we know she doesn’t mind
because she hasn’t stopped
what she was doing
I arch an eyebrow
considering my own labors
once they started
you just couldn’t stop
the next turtle chooses
to go back to the sea instead
scuffles her way toward the surf
until the researchers tackle her twice
pushing hard against her progress
digging their heels into the sand
to hold her still
while someone reads her tag
but they absentmindedly neglect to
write the numbers down
realize their mistake
and scurry to stop her again
of course
the saltwater tracks down her cheeks
are just water
instinctive
not grief
it’s easier for everyone
if it’s true
thirsty for wave: Agnes Water
my toes, thirsty for wave
delight in the surf
wet sand sloughs dead cells
and salt air bathes
my pipes from sinus to lung
moonlight skips a warm glow across the crests
shifting from one end of the bay to the other
as I search the shore for turtle nests
here the ocean is as safe
as a wild thing gets
we are on agreeable terms
and my fingers loosen
dropping one heavy worry at a time
into the tide
then I edge away
knowing it’s a kindness
not to turn my back
December in Queensland
Away in a Manger crackles
under an invisible Southern Cross
and full-lit half moon
while the maniacal kookaburras
and blood-curdling bush stone-curlews wail
accompanied by the occasional flaps and crashes
of overgrown fruit bats dangling from the trees
and once in a blessed while
the slightest sigh of breeze
it’s December in Queensland
so far from home
farmstay vs. caravan park
after a string of caravan parks
here we are
camped on a farm
and we all go loose and easy
with room to run and kick a ball
and the great big sky of stars
arching over us
bright enough you can name them
even through the tent screen
and the dark’s black enough
to be able to slip into sleep
whenever you’re ready
crickets keep up a drone
so different from generator
and the highway’s a quiet whisper
in the distance
as the night lengthens the heat here actually ebbs –
at last we’ve found a place where sleep brings cool
over by the office Tilly the kangaroo dreams
her long hind limbs splayed in visible peace
Orionids: Lake Poso
on the dock
in the dark
I stretch out long
let the robe of stars
fall over me in folds
without seeking
I find him
the Hunter
a midnight visitor
from the familiar north
here out over the black lake
he’s different
not just a belt and shoulders
his features finally fully come into view
and for the first time
his bow is plain
clutched in his left hand
aimed over the water
before I can settle in
he fires a long streak across the sky
bright enough a trail of light lingers
I wait what feels like a long time
but the sky stays still
thankful for being at the right place
at the right time
for that one volley
I stand to leave
get my bearings on the railingless dock
then search the sky one last time
but fail to find his form
wondering was it dreamwork
a trick of the watery air
I turn back to shore
and he greets me again
of course:
prone, I realize,
I craned my neck
and found him there behind me
everything’s just as it should be –
pure magic
Danau Toba Dream
the lake shushes us to sleep
a sweet sloppy sighing lullaby
the whole black-blue basin jiggles
while this big world spins
another dark night streaked with
columns of staccato horizontal
dock- and boat-lines
and the unseen air is as heavy
with smoke and water
as a Varanasi ghat
mimpi indah, Samosir
safari after dark
in the filtered morning sun
we take tea in the fig forest canopy
under the armed guide’s watchful eye
and rifle barrel
in the evening
after the last dish is rinsed
and the moon, Milky Way, constellations admired
it’s time to give way to the wild
retreat to our tents
and hide
it’s a long night
with what will be a full bladder
and the next tap running nonstop
the monkeys have turned it on
and it’s too close to the trees = leopards
and the hyena that won’t stop its maudlin haunting yip
for me to think about conserving anything
beyond my own skin
we’re interlopers here
I see clearly
when the dark sets in
and the bush rustles
