(Darug) Ngura

If every hill

of every land was cleared

of timber,

as they would call the

Forests

and every grassland derived therefrom

turned into new fortresses

of rock from other lands

tumbled fossils and old volcanic dandruff

turned into these new caves

would we begin to worship the old beings

of Leaf and Limb,

Bark and Branch

purely for their rarity?

If every tangled family

of Mineral and Vegetable

each oikos assembled out of want for

order

food

safety

appeared to you in all their glory,

burning and not consumed

Would you be reborn with each of them?

Bone

Stone

scarcity making sanctity

Kamilaroi Calling

I ran towards space and filled it

With noises of escape

Excuses, excuses

The swelling volume of excess

Carnival squeaks of consternation

Betrayal

Until a storm I called for

Broke the silence with myself

One electric round of applause

You made us

As much as we

Hail

Air sky cracking clay

It’s the lines that make the shape

The eons of echoing void,
The godless seasons

And yearning, the amplification

That makes a voice divine.