I’m trying to trace the continuity
of my adventures
within my lifespan.
Where does love start and end?
Where does the darkness
seep inwards,
and collapse like the last soft breath
of a failing lung?
What of hope, then?
What of happiness?
Where can I align the journey
and map it out
with precision and confidence?
A straight line from X to Z.
No transgressions,
no meandering wanders.
I see you, trying to live this life.
Like it’s the only thing that keeps glue to paper.
Togetherness is not so abstract in your domain.
I see you,
trying to take one step after another –
but also build something worthwhile of worldly display.
I see you,
trying to obtain meaning in all the tiny places;
the strained tea leaves,
the melting sunsets,
and sprawling views from local lookout spots.
I see you, lost in it all.
But yet, here we are.
Spinning.
Afloat in the chaos and
where meaning-makers are mocked and
governance makes little sense to anyone, anymore.
We’re free-falling through this life
of absent oblivion,
you and I,
stranded in a saltwater creek
running from mountain to ocean,
rain softly building to crescendo.
We’re stranded too –
on a slowly rusting shipwreck.
Salt-crusted waves lapping and
an absence of fresh water
leaving our mouths open and dry.
And we’re stranded too in the desert.
Near a water hole full of reddish dirt
and dusty residue.
You can’t drink up life here, either.
All our thirsts for meaning are lost
amongst a mountainous backdrop, too.
There’s a sign,
but you can’t read Arrernte,
just yet.
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