Two years and one to the day
did the blood drain from your face
in that House on the Burley,
nestled in green and blown by wind,
forgetting but not forgotten.
Wearing your warm woolly cap,
a beanie baby drifting in distant oceans.
While every night he stood vigil,
watching your spark flicker
towards the horizon, the Unreal.
I held your hand and told you stories
ending with birds, beaches and
melting paddle pops.
Candles spat as I kneeled in that holy place,
my chamber of reflection.
Where would you go on this borderless journey?
As dark shores become black seas
become glassy clouds.
Outside on the Burley, small waves wept gently
against shattered shells.
This I saw as I walked the Wallace Labyrinth
following its solitary spiral path to the centre,
and back out again.
A momentary kernel of calm surrounded
by water and weeping willows.
The Burley, as I see it now, was a mirror
into the past, the future and eternity,
both yours and mine.
Two years and one to the day
did you stop forgetting.
Memories once sung with laughing kingfishers
inexorably faded in that oncoming fog
hell-bent on dousing all.
Yet today I feel the fire and beat of wing.
Forgetting but not forgotten.
We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.