Thursday, June 07, 2007

The sunset of our lives

By Adam Gibson ©

"Moving west into the sunset
became the sunset of our lives"
that's a line
by Midnight Oil,
and I have carried it with me
for ready usage
upon the occasion of
every sunset I have ever seen
at every place I've ever been
around the world.
From Cadiz in southern Spain,
with Morocco across the straight,
burning in the haze,
from Trondheim, Norway,
the brief orange day,
declining from 12.08pm onward,
into the ice afternoon,
from a beach in Vanuatu,
upon which I fell on the news
of my dad's death,
unresolved still,
a pill in a glass of water
that just won't dissolve.

That line a little automatic pearl
triggered in my head and which
springs to my lips at
the sight of any sun
heading to any western horizon;

from the Abrohlos Motel in Geraldton,
Western Australia,
the silver ships out on the silver sea,
to the memory of us and me,
the 45 degree day in Alice Springs,
the rain-soaked glow west of
the antenna evenings of Bondi,
going cold in the westerly winds to
Emu Plains and the
houses of Shalvey and St Clair,
the graffiti train stations of Stanmore
and what's more,
the shadowed houses on stilts
under the escarpment of Bulli
and the shadowed streets of
Stanwell Park and Coledale,
these places from which I have dreamt
many different dreams,
all traced by the same line and the same song,
transcribing into a grand total
which I can call
the sunset of our lives.

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