I
the true supplicant
seeks eternal balance
in a tent by the creek
forsaking most things we crave
sleeps by an open fire
embers smoke the frozen dawn
where the gums arch towards the light
a cathedral in which to dwell
a kingfisher opalizes the water
hard to be humble
when this is all you own
II
wakes at dawn naked
struts the polished floor
of the house he designed and built
imposed upon the land
wonders at the majesty
of the range folding
lustily upon itself
like a lover
hard not to be challenged
by this act of dispossession
the greed of
trying to own all this