to this place
feels odd in a way.
A part of me, some kind of awaress
all of the time.
always walking the murga scrub,
singing in the flood plain.
welcomed me back the other day,
left me with mouth open,
heart cracked open,
drinking in the colour of country
as I flew over Roebuck Bay.
seeing it when I thought I had none;
pulling me out,
taking me away from what is: