Tuesday, 2 September 2014

The Bushfire Quilt

You call it bushfire – where’s the red
The flames that lick around the trees?
Is that deep blue the river bed?
And the scorched brown earth your edging frieze?

I hope the lizards will escape
Their stretched out forms imply quick flight
The destroying spiral in their wake
And I wonder: is it day or night?

A kaleidoscope of mellow tones
As the wind cannot be seen or heard
Is it a lull, as amid the stones
Silent, alone, sits one small bird?

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

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