it’s all about scale, climb and rest and climb again,
just to turn around and see the scale
the hills, more than hills, when you grow up without them.
now they are heights to climb—can’t see Perth this way
without a light plane and a pilot’s license
who knew the clouds cast shadows that wide, or that from afar
the Earth crawls with life, all of us ants on an apple
—you knew, you all knew—
but no one told me, not in those words
there is a kangaroo at the top of Mt Taylor, staring,
so seamlessly tucked into the bush I barely notice him
until he snarls
looks at me, knows I don’t belong,
but I want to stay with the sky a little longer, push my luck,
waste my time. is there something over the peak?
down in the scrub? anything beyond those hills?
double check, triple check.
I leave him be, standing on the edge of the field in the brush
and I do what I’m told to do, Take It All In, think up something worthwhile,
because nature has a tax, nature makes you think, nature gives you ideas,
nature gives you stillness, a chance—
meadows look better far away, and so do cities,
unless you find the flowers,
for which you have to look close, quick! there!