Mungabareena Billabong
Here the river forgets its hurry,
spills into stillness,
holds the sky like a broken promise
it never intends to keep. Old gums lean close,
their bark peeling in soft confessions,
while the water dreams in mirrors—
green and gold and the slow bruise of afternoon. A single ripple carries the memory
of every bird that ever drank here,
every shadow that paused
and decided to stay.
Beneath the surface,
time is not lost—
it simply sinks deeper,
cool and patient,
waiting for someone
to come looking
with quiet eyes.
Port Macquarie