for the Kulin Nation
… swept to scudding mist and manna,
to the white trunks of a slurred-over terrain,
the huge dark wing beats are a skirmish
of creation pouring out from the grey spiraling steam
as talons are thrust forward in a lunge
at ground zero before vertical recovery skids
to apex and another soaring
U-shaped dive that tears
earth by its roots, raising
a country out of a blue-smoky spray
now sweet with the scent of eucalyptus and mint:
blooming in a bowl felted and warily
watched over by another’s shallow-beating and quivering
charcoaled wings, the sinuous curves of country are cherished
in a loud descending wailing that gushes
open all the streaming waters and creatures of our time…