In the Pinnacles Desert
Charles Causley, 2 February 1984
“... South of Cervantes, Thirsty Point, wedges Of capstone galling the track, drumming the gut Of the four-wheel drive, we cross a sabre-cut In the scrub. The Namban River, I read. Flows only in winter, ending in a swamp Near the coast. I raise my eyes. Beyond ridges Of sand, fine Chinese white, a mess of shell- Grit, frosted with salt, the sea unrolling Bolts of long water, and its great bell tolling Across the Pinnacles, goliath-high, Facing every which-way ... ”