Eulogy

A dereliction of hair vines your face,
and I recall the way ivy hugged the muddy bricks
when we allowed the days to oversee our construction.

I caress the cracked barrens of your cheek;
the epitaph of your smile is scratched in paddocks,
a dusty home for grass-seed dreams left fallow.
We invited rain, but only Autumn attended us.

The parched expanse of your skin invites water,
and I remember the river, clogged with salt;
the soft moans of the withered eucalypts,
and the one tussock of grass by rusted pumps.
Bushfires were a mercy for them.

Your casket moves beyond my reach,
and I hear the creak from when we closed crack-timber gates
and we coaxed the ute out of its charred depression
and we took the few boxes we had saved
and we moved to a caravan on the coast
and we talked of water and weather and we floated...
until now, with only the soft sound
of waves in the distance, and a priest in my ear,

I watch as the fires finally claim my home.