Sitting
on the deck of the café,
an
ocean of eucalypts,
valleys
and peaks formed millennia ago
and
the autumn sun wash away my infirmities.
I
can read in the brilliant light
without
glasses. Today it’s warm
enough
to have bare feet.
No
need for hearing aids:
the
songs of birds and breeze
are
audible and I understand.
The tree
ferns speak of times when gums were not
and
the now long-buried volcano
dispensed
larva like words in an argument,
when
dinosaurs with tiny brains and big feet
crashed
and crushed their way to dominance –
although
none was a match for evolution.
I
ask the Wollemi Pine to interpret
but
there is no response.
I’m
left in the silence
to consider
contemporary America.
No comments:
Post a Comment