If you stray off the track
in pursuit of the lyrebird you heard,
segue of magpie/kookaburra/parrot,
brushing fronds from your face,
finding the bird’s call
behind you instead of ahead,
black globular eyes
tracking you down,
you may experience a shudder
of panic as the forest
closes in. Mountain ash,
tree ferns, cockatoos sweeping
the sky inhale your presence.
Wind slaps strips of bark
against the trunks, tapping out
resined silence. Move into this stillness,
into this rhythm with your own song.
You are not lost, you have
found a part of yourself
as ancient as trees,
as luminous as words.