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19. THE CAMELS AT SILVERTON, NEW SOUTH WALES
the camels are probing through the blue day, with gigantic woollen heads,
there is an amused exploration of the land i stand on,
by a greasy face down through the clouds that could bump me off,
i send up my desire to them, 'look into me, i am a thing that concerns you,'
i appeared to be palpable, there was a twist of the great sandy neck,
a revolution of the oily curly head, the high fleecy pride of its long stretch,
dipping down to earth in a prehistoric pull and tug, soft eye, the camel's soft eye,
a yielding dipping eye, a mild, restful, tranquil eye and the breeze
ruffling along the course compacted camel fleece,
you could rest all day in the eye like shade, you could swim there in the dry,
benign camels, a civilization of camels, a camel's way of life, how i love
them, soft-eyed, turned down in brown lashed sympathy, subdued, low quiet,
melodious, i fear they have been too soft with me,
pale, pastel delicate frames, herbivorous dozers, dusty cloud watchers,
water storage vessels along the horizon of broken crumbling roads and hilly tussocks,
the soft drug in them, woolly fleecy sandy greasy oily dusty pale, pastoral,
the camels muzzles are soot, the colour of stained chaff bags,
the camels of silverton with hides like thick curly fleece, that hold the distance,
darken the fine lines running along my fingers,
the camel's movement towards me down through the air is monster,
mighty and tense, nervously i take the risk and stay to touch,
soon our faces are rocking together, in a cuddle with camels like rugs on rocks,
what i like about it, is that the camels are off-duty,
they are walking along the road in a group of about five or six,
grazing together, they don't have to give me this warmth from themselves,
i have no food to offer, only a camera, but they aren't trying for food, camels,
until something put the wind up them and they move off over the trackless scrub,
it was good to touch them and be touched by them inwardly,
there could be nothing nicer to do in the late afternoon,
than to hold the great sloping sandy head of the world's deserts,
my arms wrapped around a camel's neck, its lashes on my cheek and forehead,
their hushed lazy brown eyes, and the way they pose as still as that,
as if to pick up everything the breeze brings this way,
their gentle sandy lips, the size and inland grace, i belong to the five grazing camels,
and gave away all my worldly thoughts to be in their presence, this space,
until they reached down and touched me |
