Arriving at the gazebo today,
the lake arrives too—
the world beyond it
also flowing in,
down each and every tributary
to this place.

And I realise,
I am the lake.
Realised by sight.

I am the kwirlam swamp hen
feeding its young the softer
part of the rushes,
then saving some for myself.

I am the yet Pacific Black duck
mother and ducklings in a line
further out in the centre.

I am the coot diving down 
with back legs frogging
to get the best grass.

I am the marangana wood ducks,
the nyimarak shelducks,
the yet under the figtrees
waiting for what’s falling.
I’m the cygnets there,
growing slowly further
from my parents.
I’m the water level also falling,
just above 2m now
on the guage.

I’m the ibis that think about landing,
the wayan white-faced heron
looking for land.

I’m the flowering thick-leaved blue fan flowers,
the white blossom of paperbarks, tea trees
and other maleleucas.
I’m the brown of the water
with green grass emerging.

The kakak small pied cormorant
working the edges for frogs
I am; 
the frog that’s calling no longer.

The dragonflies blue or grey or red,
that’s me; the welcome swallows
with nest in gazebo
now fallen,
this year no longer necessary.

I’m the egret over by the east side. 
Boodoo the bluebill and kadar the musk duck I cannot
see, that’s me. 
Same as yerrigan the turtle down there,
unseen.
The beginning flowering of eucalypts
with bees, also me.

The solitary swan that preens; the 
cygnet now out on its own,
now back to the parents,
I am. 

This lake—that I am.
All that is firm,
and all that flows through.
The world flowing through. 
All that I am.