Deep Creek 4:35am
Quick lips with Wyn then take off down
the dirt road twisting to the sea, I brake
in a blizzard of dust, skidding to miss
a bandicoot, see nothing until the last
corner opens a slip of river pooling colour.
My camera hauls in the available light,
fresh (only eight minutes old). It peels
open the future and meanders out to sea,
even the sky is a plausible reflection.
Each new day samples new generations.
An osprey flows by faster than the current.
They say Adam was the first man not Lucy
(half the bones from a 3 million year old ape).
Adam is shining, his cap is lined with tin foil,
my first thought is orgone accumulator
but he’d lost his keys, slept on the beach.
A couple brought blankets and some food.
After a 36 degrees, wild winds and bushfires
night plummeted to six. He loved this sunrise
but had lost his phone, asks for a photograph.
I give my email. He’s happy, has found his keys,
is collecting wood for a fire folded in the rocks,
invites me to join him, and asks, ‘Did you happen
to get sunset last night?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Can I have one?’
‘The few bad poems which occasionally are created during abstinence are of no great interest.’ Wilhelm Reich