Wharf 3 Moama
This is where we learn stop.
The houseboat moves alongside
red river gums as old as the taste of olives.
Beside strands of limbs, an interwoven
past written in Braille.
The river is a caretaker of openness.
Night sky is pitched against brilliance.
No movement inside the rivers arms.
3 painters wash colours
gold and brown, elbows of river.
White backed swallows weave alongside.
From the stern of the houseboat,
hold a long silver spotted spoon,
scoop mottled gums lit by Venus
turn your eyes upwards, a feast.
Breathe into exhalations of the Murray River.
The temperature is 40 degrees.
We lie on dampened white sheets listening.
An occassional fish a sharp splash.
The air smells of baked earth.
These 4 days were solid and dependable.
We have moved without fear.