Friday poem: 'The Black Sun'
As the morning rises out of the city’s
Trailing archipelago and over the first trains
Breaking ice on their cold steel tracks,
We shall walk down past the blackbird trees,
The shadows of buildings close pressed,
The dull eyes of the Unknowing.
And as you head North, I’ll leave
The station, follow your rumour
Through the dark clockwork of winter,
Damp market place, squalid streets,
Acacias by the harbour. And like
An ambassador called home at time of war,
Step onto an Eastern ferry, always knowing
That a black sun hung over our parting.
From Drowning in Wheat, a new collection of the best of three decades of John Kinsella's poetry.
Kinsella is universally acknowledged as one of the greatest living Australian poets, and arguably the most important 'eco-poet' of the age. Read another poem from the collection here.