A hundred songs ago, long balmy afternoon
timeless, a dozen suns ignite a white washed vault
acoustic guitar in hand, silent but for the creaking
aged timbers expanding with the heat wave
air carrying a taste of lucerne and fire-weed
blazing bright across the empty paddock
and concrete crunching with dead leaves
under the gutters and eaves, distant ignition
two stroke buzz cutter boxcar muttering
and chainsaws biting with the fresh scent of sap.
Watching for hours the untraceable growth
a vine climbing, tenderly clinging
to a long dead hulk of a gum tree
grey and dried, yet unyielding, I wonder
into what world that seedling once emerged.
Soil harder than stone, rising colourless dust
your lettering hidden amidst paper scraps
fading ink promising a forever you never dreamed
as the dogs grumble and snort, contented in sleep.
One day I’ll follow that road
around the corner and through the trees
chasing a future I’m not smart enough to fear
and never return
to these fields of bone
where the sky blazes every day
and the old home aches for a taste of rain.