Splintered words rising with the heat rising,
off the silver-tongued creek water, flowing
down massive ancient rocks, worn out
with tears from the dreamtime
and winds from the breath of the land,
whispering the secrets, the secrets,
and pooling in the deep waterhole,
while distracted teenagers laugh and freefall
from stone diving platforms, plunging
into the unknown, sinking to depth
then remerging to gulp air, and to clamber
up the rocks to do it all over again.
The sun watches as shadows disappear.
You may like to listen to the theme music from the movie Picnic at Hanging Rock while reading my poem.