the gate, ajar

out at the point where the big house settles –

surveys the perfect estuary
and the white gums glistening in the sun –

out at that point
the man falters
tumbles from the headland

falls through heavy brush
landing bruised and alive
by a derelict engine
bearing cast letters –

spelling a phrase of wisdom, incomprehensible –

and sees below the gate swung ajar

and the deeply trodden
dusty path

by which he walks
to the place of cave dwellers

down by the estuary

who craft their earthen masks
and display them

proudly,
in well-lit caves