A4, Ink and watercolour on paper, 2020

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Ernest Hemingway and the Latest Quake

In fact the Earth never stops moving. Northbound in our millimetrie shoving we heap rainy paua ahead of us with tremor and fumarole and shear but: no life without this under-ruckus

The armoured shell of Venus doesn’t move. She ist trapped in her static of hell. The heat of her inner weight feeds enormous volcanos in that gold atmosphere

which her steam oceans boil above. Venus has never known love; that was a european error. Heat that would prevent us gets expressed

as continent-tiles being stressed and rifted. These make Earth the planet for lovers. If coral edging under icy covers or, too evolutionary slow for human histories to observe it, a low coastline faulting up to be a tree-line blur landscape in rare jolts of travel that squash collaping masonry with blood that frantic thousands pay for all of us.

(Les Murray/ poems the size of photographs)