Poetry
by Phil Brown
Notes From Binna Burra
Clouds crest, break and rush
As they brush against the tops
Of these cool mountains.
Home becomes infinitesimal,
Dwarfed in the distance,
Strangely meaningful now
In the terms of this height
And solemn wilderness.
I come here to sit outside myself
And gaze out on endless plateaus of possibility
As my panacea, a cure for my civility.
I cannot give myself to these forests
But I need them nonetheless.
They are something for me
To aspire to
And never achieving them
Keeps me happier than I would be
If I owned them outright.
Because I like to come to them in my car
Half committed, well dressed,
And wearing sunglasses
To render the splendor Acceptable.
I am no cave man to be sure
But something's stirring here in me
- Passion or Devonshire tea?
by Phil Brown
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