by KELLIE ASMUSSEN
Through a slightly busy town,
over a bent-round hill
and splitting a valley of grass brown,
a dusty dirt road beckons.
Stomping a rusty fence of barb,
the all-forever sighing willows
reveal a quiet well-tapped clearing –
complete with lazy creek, deep green and yellow,
where wisps of web cling unbroken
reflecting the whitest light.
Simple words remain unspoken.
Flicking through the burnished air –
arching and reaching its line –
a long, attuned bamboo arm
dips and teases the water,
landing past the sand, within the calm.
Dunking its illusive head,
tantalising the gills beneath,
the Polaroids see all that’s fed
amongst the ants of dusk and a warm falling sun.