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
lavender
the setting sun
residents returning
from visiting hours
rocky cape
the eerie silence
of winter
precisely two birds
huddling
muddy vale
cows with names
giddy with happiness
between the marked
and the unmarked
broken headstones
awoken
by the trap's snap
Pa's stern voice
swearing
at a devil
scribbly gums
the longest days
spent skipping stones
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