too heavy for air,
between cathedral roots
of a black booyong, wing bent back,
floating in leaves, it waits
to sink into earth
its expression
noble,
as the way it stood, in suit jacket – the piercing
yellow eye, closed, offering
itself to the forest workers
who will massage
everything back to soil
I’m still working on the Stinson series of poems. It has been such an interesting exercise, working with historical facts and biographical details from Bernard O’Rielley. I’ve been struggling to get Bernard near the plane, so I’ve spent some time on rainforest pieces relating to the area of Lamington National Park, where the stinson crashed.
pied hill prawns 
Love this brief sojourn, and I’ve already read ahead, see you in the comments of the next post.
I have come back to read this several times and it stills me every time.
Wow! Thanks G. So pleased something is happening here to bring you back. I know I need to come back to all of these and do some serious editing. It’s been a good commitment for me though.