Can you picture an early morning when dark and light first meet,
when the sharpened rays of daylight affirm control of the street,
when the dying tendrils of nightfall submit to the forces of day,
and surrender their last bastion and regroup to rejoin the fray.
Can you picture a man sitting quietly on the stairs of a wooden shack
with an old beanie covering his forelock where hair cannot grow back,
and a gap for the teeth he donated to the fist of a waterfront friend?
What joy a mug full of coffee and a whisper of whiskey transcend!
Imagine the sound of the water in the Gardens on Spring Hill
journeying forever onward over the falls built into the hill.
Hear the magpie’s thrusty warble conveying the news of the day
as she gulps a lazy earthworm the most succulent of many today.
Picture the sight of a mudlark opening its wings to the rising sun
as she rises to herald the coming of the new day just begun.
Watch her eyes discover the moth camouflaged on mottled tree-bark
as she thrusts her beak in a motion as fluid as a killer shark.
Can the citizens of Brisbane, held fast in the cradle of night,
ever dream of a world that is different, whose witnesses delight
in hearing the chirp of birdsong split the silence at first light,
and the harsh growl of possums snarl goodbye till another night?