ii
leg bone –
aircraft pipe
through canvas
iii
The cyclone moved
off the mountain, moved off
the coast, retreating
from what it had done. Air
washed of its haze; buildings
in Brisbane and beyond the Glass
House mountains. We couldn’t see
our mountain held a secret;
flecks of blue through the canopy,
and wandering planes
never circle
our cries and smokey fire. Westray
couldn’t wait beside the carcass
of yesterday’s flight, his hand burning
to scramble down gullies. Gone,
in moments, swallowed by green
just the fading sound of a man slipping
through the undergrowth.
pied hill prawns 