She approaches the telegraph station at Eucla.
The honeycomb colour of its blocks
rising from the whiteness of the sand.

Her feet make soft indentations in the dune
as she climbs, panting slightly. Two doorways
cut into the Northern wall. The dune has

moved through them and occupies the rooms,
sloping gently to the ceiling. There is no roof.
The Eastern wall is partly

covered by sand. It is 785 miles
to Adelaide, nearly 900
to Perth, and the sea

is hidden behind a mile of dunes.
The only sound is a crow, rasping
the yellow file of its cry

against the sky. Wind lifts sand
from the top of a distant dune in a steady arc.
She turns to leave this buried,

exposed place.

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