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.

Balloons fly, Burst, fall...

In the footsteps we could fit you, you were small...

On the first day after the humans have gone,/ a bramble pokes through a crack in paving/...

“I only want to see the birds!” She whined, her arms up-stretched And fingers splayed, begging...

Barkindji are weeping for their Baarka mother -

The water is rising when I wake, and at first, I forget.