slumped under a tree
in the centre of the city
half-empty bottle by your side
liquid purple ticket
to the dreamtime

eyes shut
foot twitching
a smile on your round black face

lost in ancestral memories
walking the scorched red earth
of Arnhem land
escaping for a while
the hatred of the white New World

rivers of metal
unable to flow
trapped
by sheer volume
in gorges of girded concrete

fingers drumming
frustrated heartbeats
on immobilised steering wheels
imprisoned
impotent
feeling the passage of
time that doesn’t wait

Lily pads floating.
Darkness deep; moon veiled this night.
Boatmen dance, geese sleep.