Banksia
When I trace my hand it’s Naturally the right that Picks up the pencil and marks The page with tracing lines. Dominance ironically results In the right being erased And the image on the Page emerges as a Mirror to that Determination to define. The wordless left: An empty space Inside the boundaries That seek to contain And frame and Control. The spirit of the Law, A Terra Nullius, Which we try to contain Within the legal letters that write Who belongs where. The vast openness That Banks and Cook Traced as they sailed North labelling the Flora and Fauna. … An educational mentor Reminded me regularly that “Values are Caught Not Taught.” “Create the right space” He said, “Model respect,” Which he did, Walking gently through The world. … We wear paths In the landscape. Tracings That define Us And circle The soils Too beautiful, Too soft, For words. “Whereof one cannot speak...