by CORAL CARTER
I wasn’t there
when a dried seed head traced
a circle in sand
when a hanging branch in the wind
brushed small stones together
and made a wall
when out on the lake
a smear of water
became mineral
when rain dimpled
red sand dunes
when a dried lizard
exposed its bones
I wasn’t there
when he took his last breath
as clouds spilled on Big Tent Hill
the tide was on the dodge
mangroves clung to the stony shoreline
and the stooped myalls
drooped a little more
under the weight of water
Port Augusta, South Australia