I
In the molten hush before sunrise,
Serpent breath thickens beneath the earth –
muscle of creation, ancient and coiled,
smouldering in the belly
of red country.
II
With a tremor the spine splits –
rockbones crack
as Wanambi unravels,
silken thunder through sand,
awakening world from silence.
III
Scales flicker like wet lightning,
etching rivers into thirsty ground.
Where belly drags, the land remembers:
cool water stirs
in the scars of its passage.
IV
Head crowned with secrets,
the Serpent lifts, tasting the wind –
smoke, blood, roots –
reading the law imprinted
in dust and horizon.
V
It moves with the force of thunderheads,
muscle shaping waterholes,
summoning rain from high cloud,
skin streaked with ochre and salt,
tongue tattooing the air with names.
VI
Dreaming is power –
where it twists, spinifex burns greener,
jukurrpa pulses underfoot:
boundaries, songlines, warnings sung
in all things that grow and thirst.
VII
Birds hush, lizards freeze –
all life attending
the sovereign shimmer of the Serpent,
knowing the breath of water
hides teeth as well as blessing.
VIII
Eye gleams, half sun, half shadow,
holding both memory and judgement –
the keeper of all reckonings,
balancing kin, trespass,
sacrifice in the deep.
IX
Night falls. Wanambi sinks
so deep even spirit-voices hush –
yet the black curve of its dreaming
shapes every stone,
every hollow of dark water.
X
Its law endures, wound tight
around time and country –
all blood, all rain,
small campfire flames
reflecting its silent dominion.
by Bakchos
