on the road to Ballarat
the argument thick between us
we take a wrong corner

five bald hills   bright white turbines
stand still   like the crucifix waiting
for the infidel     then one by one
east to west    they turn   happy to earn
their keep   stop the speculation

over the fence   four lambs   not yet shorn
lay down
across the field of fluoro canola
a pillar of smoke leans over