Communion of Stones
The nearly full moon rises swiftly over the silhouette
of Narrowneck plateau
its light cast above the sodden valley paddocks.
I want to detach myself from my shadow
and pace out its sudden length as it falls across
the grass, vivid as daylight.
Dogs lounge coiled by the fire,
we admire them, in their skin, in their bones.
Ducks hiss and conspire with the dam. Amongst other things
the night lists its fears, itemized, rescinded.
A communion of stones cracks in the glowing heat of the pit.
The aqueous humour boils in my eye.
For the moon, for the slime between my toes
and everything else, I give belated thanks,
for the coals, the spuds sizzling, the ascension
of sparks, the frogs grumbling amongst the reeds.
This night also, four shooting stars in the space of minutes
pace the frailty of this slow wheeling.