North of the Line
Strewn across a wide plain,
sheep bones dazzle
in the bright sun.
On the horizon,
phantoms coalesce then melt
away into watery lies.
The only sound
is the dry, papery whispers
of saltbush rasped
by a hot wind.
The stone walls of a derelict
farmhouse make a last stand
against the encroaching desert.
A big sky has claimed its roof.
Out of the shadows
of a paralysed windmill,
a shiny black beetle
leaves little footprints
as it wanders across the face
of this abandoned world.
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