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In my more indigenous days

by James Walton (follow)
ibis on middle hill
in a litter of origami
like snow the first time

I thought was newspaper
on Lake Mountain Road

a stalk of herons
in two step jaunt
in close examination

of isthmus pathology
at Sealers Cove Crossing

squad marsh harriers train
somersaults of dervish
in homicidal instruction

watching St Clair
mousse to waves

the busy of bandicoots
rallies over lost ground
browses the seasonís wane

where red belly pauses
flicker to scent on tongue

maniacal cackle frogs
throw their language out
as great lakes listen

a patchwork Latin to recover
spurned lovers again

black wallaby lingers
scratches ribs delays a nibble
knows the causeway of dangling lights

a small fisher stands
her silhouette loose on the inlet

and then the moon shouts
outlining chalky a still portrait
bequeaths moments with the run of tides


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