James Walton - The Strzelecki Mountain Killings ( I, II, III )

The Strzelecki Mountain Killings ( I, II, III )

I

I brought down the iron bark by the garage

to give the solar panels more say

in using the day from the north east.

The mahogany wood is hard to split,

the dense grain knowing more than sin;

axe and wedge recoil

until I find a way to work around the edge

down to the heart.

Younger branches dribble sap in thick remonstrance on my shirt -

on the sawn rounds my thumb traverses a thick history

of circles closer than early marriage,

holding more than a national library in an inch.

I strike down and shatter the lines

that were there when Charlemagne was emperor,

growing when Istanbul was just rumour to Constantinople.