by Allan Padgett

Gazing at the Universe in the middle hours of night,
a long and deep window accessing a sizable slice

of close to midnight sky. Suddenly a jolt:
a massive Marri tree in full bloom, rearing.

No sounds of bird life yet. Most have gone to
sleeping grounds; the local owl not yet perched

with its plaintive, restless cries. I wonder
as I rest on back, wide awake, what it says.

If it is calling to another, in search of conjunction
or merely company, it is out of luck: no replies.

There is a trembling tumescence in the cooler air,
a welcome relief from days and months of heat

as first the Wheatbelt’s easterlies prowl and growl,
then, if we are lucky, a shift from hot to a relieving sou’-

westerly that lifts the spirits of humans and quendas –
this breeze from ocean induces relaxation and amiability.

Throughout the dark it enables personal sleep buttons to
switch to on – and, if lucky, a brain shuts down for the night.

The thing left on is called dreams, and they writhe with
recollection, fantasy, a lost suitcase and an occasional gun.

The Marri converses with water, oxygen, airborne spores,
arbuscular mycorrhizae – and an infinite universe of stars.