From Tasmania


tyre tracks
graffiti the sand
two summers ago
the footprints
of us

lest we 
forget our roots
the turning of the fagus

grand opening
all the local fellas 
in shorts and thongs

after the bushfire
tracing brushstrokes
on the cold silo

mouth organ cradled
in his woodworked hands
my crazy old man
plays a tune 
for the swallows

walking the old road
headed somewhere

the setting sun
residents returning
from visiting hours

rocky cape
the eerie silence
of winter
precisely two birds

muddy vale
cows with names
giddy with happiness

between the marked
and the unmarked
broken headstones

by the trap's snap
Pa's stern voice
at a devil

scribbly gums
the longest days
spent skipping stones