THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2008

  Gary Wilson
FAULTLINE
 

On pearblossom Highway, Joshua trees
lean like pilgrims
shouting prayers
to outcrops of stone
above the din of heat,
and wind

And when I saw a fire,
I saw fire
turn houses to ashes,
leave coppery bones;
and when I saw rain,
I saw rain
wash houses from hilltops
over mud-falls, like barrels

Down below,
beneath the high dry sea bed
where Pearblossom Highway cuts through strata
folded like toffee,
the city clusters
on seismic escarpments: a city on springs
where nobody walks and everyone waits -
waits for rain,
waits for fire

Waits for the juddering
seafloor spreading


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