The ceiling of this land will never be the same

as it was before colonisation.

The brumbies stay

while Bogong moths disappear

at a rate of 99% in a year—

from thousands in a single cave

to the fingers of one hand.

Land knowledge.

Local knowledge.

                    Unacknowledged.

 

Do the moths feel lonely? Or betrayed?

Did their eye-marked wings see it coming,

or are they unaware

as they flit towards extinction?

Do the brumbies wear their interloper tag with pride,

or does knowledge of their status render them wary?

 

Long before prison ships and rum rebellions,

the First People knew this place.

Ngarigo country.

Then one ignorant footprint,

one hoof

at a time.

 

 

 

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