I tried to photograph the breezeThat lifted hair and heartWhile trudging barren, burnt-black ground;The wish surpassed my art.

I groped for words to somehow showThe empty skies at dawn,After stars and before blue;The phrases died unborn.

I tried to paint the chaos rocks,Their opalescent shades,The tortured lines, the polished sheen;The portrait’s still unmade.

I tried for song to give you flocksOf twilight birds at springs,Their caution overcome by thirst;My throat’s too dry to sing.

In vain I took the sketchbook outEach evening and morn;The dragon’s skitter, eagles’ soar,The waving leaf, undrawn.

I hoped to bring these echoes backTo fill gaps on your shelf;It cannot work, you’ll have to goAnd live it for yourself.

On the Chewings Range, looking north from a knoll west of Ltharrkelipeke (Mt Giles)