There are flocks of karak
the red-tailed black cockatoo
circling the city.

There are flocks of bandiny
the black, white and yellow striped
New Holland honeyeater
chirping in frontyard trees.

Each evening there is a flock of planets
left behind by the Sun—
all of them visible
above the horizon.

At the lake 
there is one Pacific
black duck
left behind,
hardly moving
from a small pond 
on the eastern side.
He is joined by swamphens,
white ibis,
and one white-faced heron.
Wardong the crow sits
on the fence
and eats little red 
saltbush berries.

There is wise guidance
to the flocking birds—
their ‘I’ hovers above
each species,
directing them where to fly.

There is wise guidance
to each planet—
though calculable in their movements
they send down their influences still.

There is wise guidance
to the lake
coming from deep within the Earth.

And there is wise guidance to the Earth,
filled with multiplicity of being.
All of it permeated now
by the Sun that stepped down;
by the one Sun that, 
into it,
set.