"Ringing the imperfect moon, and you wish you could tell him what it means.
This is what silence looks like, you think later,
                                                                            and a possum lands like ordnance
on the roof, and down in the paddock
a dozen souls are reborn in the bawling cattle and the fox plays the geese
like oboes with broken reeds. Night is the world in its other life."

– Mark Tredinnick, from "Eclogues"

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