swept up swept down
in the roiling thunderhead
layer on icy layer
hailstones form and fall
to clatter on my rooftop
blackness absolute
silence filling the void
no sense of self
but an urge to use my torch
in the depths of the cave
slender lemon bells
lighting the morning mists
as honeyeaters
deftly sip their nectar
correa’s autumn gift
pulsing wall of sound
in shimmering summer heat
rising crescendo peaks –
seventeen years underground
sing cicada sing