Shifting

I wait   

to be                                                                                                             Welcomed

standing in front 

silently, trace Country

linger 

in the margins

with trained eye

measure, assess, count

no signs

wait

disorientated

nature’s magnetic forces askew

to understand                                                                                                  connect

I step through the gilded frame

canvas stretches

feet slip across oil 

on the other side

dark, temperature drops

a state of estivation

                                                                                                                         awake

cool undercurrent off the high winds

brings the smell of rain

watch the storm move across the sky  

high enough to grasp the stars 

from the valley floor

I hear a cry that has

circled all day

whee-la whee-la

lone dingo howl 

pulls down the last of the                                                                            light

a shiver runs down my spine 

like a spool losing its ribbon

I sit 

hands rested on knees

fingers gently dip into                                                                                       Country

in my mind's eye

I trace well-worn paths                                                                                inhale

the smoke of the gum leaves 

feed on the dark syrup of yams 

listen to women sing 

I drink it all in like sweet water 

as the storm is about to swallow us                                                                  whole

and I am lost to the mountains

imprint granite tors

with an open palm 

push myself back through the gilded frame

standing in front  

orientated

at ease

and magnetic forces                                                                                         aligned