Do you remember Lake Mungo well enough for
a poem?
Question asked by my mother
there are fossils in the memory
that can be
uncovered
by the faintest swirl of wind
roads get rewritten
we leave ourselves in the places we visit
i am half and you are half
here i am
a small fist of bleached bone,
here you are
the ribcage that sheltered me
dry surface
shallow hills
seems lifeless
everything important
occurs somewhere
hidden
wooden structures crumble
undoing of shallow history
bone things become ash
stories run deep glacial
radical rising
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