burnt into
this timber town’s memory—
bushfire moon
Lorin Ford
my must-have list
skipping across the street—
autumn wind
Lorin Ford
whale song—
the distances
that call us
Lorin Ford
coastal taipan . . .
I backtrack along a road
best not taken
Lorin Ford
Kuta beach—
our honeymoon haunted
by a dorsal fin
Lorin Ford
fog swirls—
a currawong out of nowhere
hops back in
Lorin Ford
Echidna Tracks 