245. Full Moonlight

Amongst the white stars,
the moon is a single spotlight
pointed at this scene.

239. Humidity

The air grows heavy with moisture
once the hot sun drops below the horizon
and the wind stops the constant stream
that denotes daytime in the Pilbara.

Our skin is a damp, almost-sticky
feeling that grows more uncomfortable
as we fill up with heavy foods
and great company,
until the weight of the air
seems to pull on our eyelids as well.

Then we leave.
Happy
and weighted
with good things.

234. A Lament for Stillness

We danced with the wind
on this warm November night;
movement calms our nerves.

233. Just Darkness

The night curves around

the car and the dusty road,

hugging empty space.

232. Under Construction

The new expansion to the highway
makes three lanes of pavement
heading each direction in a straight
strip of gray, connecting two small towns
that don't even bear stop signs.
Here though, the streetlights curve
overhead like a rib cage
and the two new stoplights
illuminate the road,
always saying there's no one else
around during the night.

229. Barely There

The sliver of moon,
just a slip in the sky,
above the town lights.

167. Fading Lights

As the night creeps through the air,
the stars slowly come into focus,
the galaxy stretching across the sky
like the slick slide of bleach
on the black fabric.

The birds fall silent,
the flies disappear like magic;
sometimes the wind stops too.

And the mosquitos appear
under the yellow temple
of the fluorescent lights.

The moon continues its journey,
the slow stretch of a circle,
watching us dance,
laugh,
share stories
and food
long into the night,
when the moon has flipped over
from a curve like a frown
to the crescent of a smile.

150. Capturing the Outback

There were times in those first days, weeks,

when I would sit outside in the wobbly chair

or amongst the dust on the concrete sidewalk

and stare at the horizon, the spacious red dirt

and brush landscape spanning all four directions,

the broad expanse of the sky, ever cloudless

even on the mornings that felt like rain.

The air only held birds I’d never seen before,

zephyrs that felt strange against my skin,

and the sharp captivating reminder

that I’m actually in Australia; it lured me

outside for every moment I could spare.

I used to stare at the sky, tracing constellations

I couldn’t name, searching for shooting stars

or satellites in the edge of the Milky Way,

staring at the way the crescent moon hung

at a different angle from the one at home.

I photographed everything that could fit

into a frame and even more blurred attempts

to capture a feeling, a place that could never

be translated into words or tamed fit in a 3x5

photograph, or whatever that is in centimeters.

And I don’t want to have to say there were times.

The Lights in the Palm Tree

I sit on the linoleum floor of the donga

with the door open to the night winds

as I unpack my laden grocery bags.

As I stand, scattered orange lights

in the palm tree catch my eye

from above the next row of rooms.

The lights seem to flicker on and off

when I move, as though someone

strung a set of Christmas lights

high in the tree top, just for fun.

I follow the sidewalk to the end

of the building for a better view,

but the light doesn't glow in the fronds

the same way from the sides.

Only two feet of space in my room

shows the brand new flood light

at the perfect angle and height

to see the palm fronds glow each night.

The Promises of Thick Duvets

Two weeks ago, we wore shorts
as we gazed at the Milky Way
painted amongst the stars.
We wore sunscreen and t-shirts
and slept without blankets on our beds.
Our socks laid clean in the cupboards
and our air conditioners ran all night.

Now, we wear sweaters and jeans
as we scurry through the night,
seeking the promises of thick duvets
spread evenly on cool beds.

Movie Night

Calm, clear night at the amphitheater,
dark picnic blanket spread on the grass,
white screen adhered to the building,
good friends on their sheet next to us.
The wind carries the child-like laughter
and the thoughts that no one dares whisper
while the story continues to play out
in front of our blanket.

Pilbara Sunsets

Once the sun slips behind the hills at the day's end,
the sky glows a bright marmalade that slowly fades
into a light marigold with gray tones throughout.
When the atmosphere is full of zebra stripe clouds,
the formations reflect summer berry fuschias and pinks,
and the sky turns to a golden honey with lemons
like a hot tottie on a cool windy evening.

Staircase to the Moon

The locals call it a staircase--
or maybe that's just the tourist centers--
when the moon, large and swollen
with light, peaks over the horizon,
over the red mountains turned black
with the night, over the bays
that are more mud than brine
at the low tide. The light shines
across the water but cannot impact
the swaths of mud flats so thick
they can bog a quad or a truck
or an ignorant person in gum boots.

I don't see a staircase in the stripes
of light that lead to the moon,
but I do see a path stretched out
like a hopscotch game or a zebra
crossing from the moon in the sky
to the moon in the sea.

Transport

The car rattles down the dirt road,
potholes and wheel treads
rocking us with a threatening
amount of force. It feels safe
as it roars and dips over the red
dust roads.

The headlights bounce and flash
as we round the large bend.
The stars shine brightly above,
the only other light in this off-road
maze of trails that lead us to stillness.

The conversation has died,
a necessity and concession
to the the thunderous rumble
of a tiny car in the Pilbara.