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Perth summer's a fat crow,
squatting in the bright street,
preening its dusty wings in the hard light;
see the blinding sky & sea, blue as dreams -
surely no season for work -
but we do,
mad-dogging down the freeways,
thinking of deep shade on wide verandahs,
the music of ice,
novels falling out of hands
as we doze like refugees from light,
adoring the breeze that now stirs the jacaranda.
Comes upon us a nomad,
full of light and space,
drifting through streets
rich with sunfall;
beyond our vision
the scape of desert and sea,
paddocks of wheat
and long trains on shimmering rails
that stretch out like days.
Summer, you brand us like iron,
lead us to the water -
forever west like sun,
out over the breaks and float;
a blue that scans our eyes for life,
a scavenging bird in flight,
as we squint against the distance,
like mariners for some new landfall,
becalmed on the edge of the world.
(last stanza owes much to Mar Bucknellšs 2000 Artrage performance, Unawares)
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