#1430 - the track is a kind of speech with itself

1430

4.334

1.xii.23

three for the Gore Cove Track Series

 

days when the track closes in

 

step over the fallen

and bump the odd head

 

in silver the bay beyond

in gold

in the storm that hasn’t come

 

it’s all up

 

an ant begins its track on me

no knowing where we’ll end

 

 

 

 

 

 

the track is a kind of speech with itself

 

a muddy day

path torn

 

see gullies where recently awash

 

from thunder wrack

creek run to mud

 

duck under

 

little falls

and someone’s come down

 

the rush of it makes nestings

in every slight stillness a home

 

day more slippery

and the rain again in its commencement

 

uphill hippy backyard chimes

 

it isn’t a mendicant errant

more of a brushturkey strut

the way

 

heavy rail on the ridge above

 

a breeze picks up and goes

 

moss as fast as ever

 

I pick up these few stray lines

 

these steps from out of the blue

 

 

 

 

 

 

it’s as if one came down to find a beginning

 

sun struck from a storm before

 

a sulphur crested luncheon midst

 

leaf on boulder green, this shadow

 

a branch comes down

 

they’re singing up there and still

as long as the light will last