DEATH OF A BOTANIST
i was driven over the bridge/ & into cloncurry
past a dry river bed/ with a few small puddles
in it/ a pelican sat in one of them/ i saw its
tiny black eye scan the bridge as we crossed/
neville said: 'e's waitin' fer rain/ we laughed/
& i thought perhaps it will rain tomorrow/
i asked him for directions to the last natural
patches/ my camera & notebook ready/ he said:
best ter get outa town & head north inter the
gulf country/ & the next day on the way out of
town/ i looked out over the bridge to the pelican/
it lay facing down/ flat on its strong grey breast/
wings outstretched on either side/ its apricot
bill on the dry river bed/ & the gentle twist of
its head/ beside the drying edge of the puddle/
now i am finding the land upturned/ wind blowing
away topsoil into long brown clouds/ the spine
of my notebook is broken/ i cannot live in the
shadow of the pelican/ aimless amongst the cattle/
i am falling face down on a green ants' nest in the
strawberry dust/ amongst chocolate brown termite
mounds/ headstones of the outback cemetery/ &
wildflowers ablaze from the back of my skull/ my
teeth becoming horselike/ & the cows who hang
around squashed dead calves have left me/ & the
hawks & crows have left me/ & the native herbs
are stretching to the long brown cloud/ i cannot
turn my hand to their beauty/ nor watch their slow
growth dustwards/ my fingers the white coral of
the barren ochre/ & the inland dinosaur roar of
cattle down by shady creeks/ as they trample the
edges into longer dry rivers/ into the ripple &
crack of the mudsplit/ & the shade of the boulders
& the tilt of the uplift/ on my dry broken forehead/
& the heart of the land in the death of a botanist/
ditched in grass in the gulf country/ now the night
sky has a pelican's gaze/ & its pinprick black eye
has expanded/ looking down on my backbone from
a bridge of starlight/ as i had looked down upon it | 
