Last weekend we see a ngalkaning
the nankeen rufous night heron
flying by
in the daytime
over the lake.

Two days ago I spotted a single janjarak
black-winged stilt
huddled by the slowly-growing
shoreline on the south end
beneath the figs.

Yesterday I saw a little cloud
of four small dots 
flying low across the water
from the north,
in little gasping flaps.
Four janjarak.

While off to the eastern edge,
in the furthest corner of my eye,
all elegant and white,
koorodoor the great
egret.

Today, in the northern section,
a single rufous heron,
drifted by,
followed by his gentle
honkinsh sound.

All these last months
the water has been so high
that even kwirlam the swamphen
has been forced up 
onto the golf course 
and parks, eating mown grass.
When they do swim, they are so slow, 
their feet not webbed—
if they have chicks, the chicks
are faster.

The lake is now coming slightly off its highest tide,
the breathing in past its deepest depth.
The very top of the pole of the measuring gauge 
not quite met. Somewhere between 2.1 and 2.2 metres
now dipping, slightly,
though we’re not quite down to numbers—
the last one being 2 metres flat.

And yet, the very first of the waders—
not yet any wayan white-faced herons—
beginning to come back
with the first
of the lake’s edges.