Holding taut barbed-wire with one hand
and myself with the other
I gaze at the ground
as hundreds of shining grey dust droplets
roll away from the rotting fence post
down the hill
moving like mercury.
The drumming piss
makes surf of the dirt
churns it into frothy mud.
Apostle birds (perhaps twelve of them)
launch and fan off above my head
upset as I shake off the last bead