an iron bark fire,
we snuggle within the warmth
in the hills
a first star twinkles through frost
and all the trees are aflame

Bathurst

willy wags
his tail in the wattle
through midday heat
the somnolent drone of bees
in bottlebrush blossom

in deep holes
in the billabong’s cool depths
beneath red gum boughs
canny old cod lays in wait,
a vestige of the dreaming