Sometime east of Broken Hill

A recent trip to Broken Hill and Lake Mungo reminded me of earlier journeys and times.

Sometime east of Broken Hill

On the cusp of future
And backward
Sand and space footprint
Time between toes
Waiting for the next flood.

Scratchings of love
Insult the ancient bark.
Cans, discarded arcs of rust
Carry memories of
Fishing and expeditions.

Hot days and cold stars.
In the smoke of change
Campfires glow
But the cold seeps from 
behind.

Stone circles and hands 
under overhangs.
Chippings by ghosts of ancestors
Gift a picture
To new arrivals.

I bus to a bony landscape.
Lakes of saltbush and skeletons.
Blown and exposed
Dusty and unforgivably
Old.

Another small step.
The past dragging
Like a blanket on my shoulders
wiping out my footprints.
A puff of dust marks my passing.



(c) Robert George Barnes
 25 August 2002