You can now drive for miles on dust roads / that were once part of an abundant seabed...

We slash and hack and burn, hedges wasted, trees slaughtered, wildlife afflicted. And yet another April.

The dispossessed came to live beside us, naturally, in cities and towns, on shores, on hills, above bowling alleys and in cheap apartment blocks ...

This beech sapling, sprung of its own accord from the parent tree, is old enough to join its mother in the leaf-change...

It's a bitter wail, An enduring whimper ...

We are always predicting our ending days, not now, but just around the corner

A Belsen-thin spectre/ in a wrecked Lexus,/ towed whole inches along/ through the keening dust...

the hills and forests/ respect for the rivers and creeks/...

Could you hear nature breathing? When all the other noise stopped?

I once walked those bare hills, viewed the valleys with their scars.