On the Delta

Go on upstream past the old slipways,

half-finished hulls laid up, and the long-

legged cranes that fly high overhead.

Keep walking until the swamp is crowded

in about you—the salt-crusted leaves

of mangrove against a limpid sky,

and the unplumbed mud and roots

that breathe below. Watch the flooding

tide come in, around the ironbark pylons

of a dismantled wharf, and how water

spreads out like a poured layer of clear

resin, and finds its true level among

the mangrove’s tempered trunks.

Wait. Let the migration come to a stand-

still, then walk away before the water

draws back to the main arm of the river.

Later remember not this place, and

the way water mirrors trees and sky,

but what it is you’ve found instead—

this solid thing that’s light within you—

let it wing into the regions of wider

sight, and feel for the company of words.

Go on recalling the seamless flow over

mud if you must, then claim what’s yours.

Published Broken Ground UWAP