Out From a Line of Fire
by Anthony Lawrence

Out from a line of fire she has come
     into these entanglements of coastal scrub

This largesse of flower, branchline
     and shifting, abrasive light

When she lifts her hand, a dunebird stops its mouth
     with a scribble of acacia pollen

When she lowers her head,
     a potoroo grooms the flank of its own standing shadow

She leaves the beach, her hands
     overspillng with urgency and a quiet, tactile need

She knows that what has been taken
     will not be found inn field guide or scaled-down topography

It is here, in the economy of depth a stoke of oil locates
     on paper or skin —

Those skylights into the head
     the crafting of spittle and blood has made luminous

The puzzle and the broken code of pure amazement
     have taken root, and they are flourishing

Out from a line of fire, her body moves,
     and light is what she leaves

In the essential landscape of her absence
     a butcherbird goes out of its head

A man whistles a mongrel from the surf, and a small
     marsupial takes a splinter of ash from its pocket.