The god of dust is still in residence here, Jill. Birds exemplars of
parched separation. Coming May not looking like adding much to our piddly
47 mm for the year so far in Hepburn Springs.
Bill
On Wed, 24 Apr 2019 at 4:30 pm, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Here's a little something I wrote after having to bury a bird
> yesterday:
>
> Even when the mind
> is homeless
> the world is there real and difficult
> We can’t understand
> all we touch but we must talk
> about it
> The bird I just buried had a home
> I’m not giving it a home
> or rest
> Its feathers and bones part severally
> Here’s one category for such a bird
> Grallina cyanoleuca
> One of the ways we know
> what we don’t know
> Or writing it down is another
> ‘I buried the peewee
> so desiccated I couldn’t tell
> its age or sex.
> One of its wings had parted
> from the rest.’
> The soil is so much drier
> this year
> These things
> irrevocable
> fantastical perilous
> Where we’re going
> we don’t understand
> but we know this happens
> When they bury me burn me
> finally homeless
> home
> (if there’s a small garden
> of feathers
> a large god of dust)
>
> ___________________________________________Jill Jones
> Latest book, Viva the Real, from UQP
> https://www.uqp.uq.edu.au/Book.aspx/1473/Viva%20the%20Real
> Jill on Twitter
> https://twitter.com/_jill_jones
>
>
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