#171 ‘Canning
Stock Route II’
The map was more
or less misleading
about everything
but latitude and longitude.
The days kept
going at us, pursuing us
as if to ask if
we were there for the solitude.
The moon got
itself up early, silvering
our nights with
its thin spun currency
and
insubstantial shadows.
We bent to our
tents like saints in a desert.
We dreamed of
moving across the land
just above the
grass and just below the dunes.
We had a human
shape
and the
landscape seemed to know it.
We cooked for each
other, meals were generous,
and we asked
only that the moon keep watch on us.
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