The fires burned for weeks on end.
In paddocks where they were put out
logs smouldered for days afterwards.
Farmers talked about how long
before there was rain—this wasn't the west,
but north, east of the ranges,
away from flocks of nuisance galahs.

Water tanks were down, banana plantations
dying under a haze of smoke—
sunlight piercing weatherboards and tin roofs;
water being pumped from the creek
and river. Cattle, hand-fed in silence.

This day the lizards were out
in dozens: heads up, immobile like an Aztec warrior
with a frilled ornament around its neck,
one would rear up and flee on its back legs
as your approaching wheels broke the dome
of sunlight protecting it.

As evening fell the wind turned west.
Fires dotted the range
like rubies in Persephone's crown—
men returned by ashes and soil,
cursing fire-breaks and ruined crops.

Little pepper-grey moths flew out of the bushes,
desperate against the cold panes, thirsty for light.