Science  Write  Now

Share article
volcanoes expose a horizon rising through haze
to straddle an imaginary line spliced through
a continent of islands. here Wallace grasped his

future. displaced God. found truth. here
where one biota nudges the next Eurasia
leans forward, ever so lightly she kisses

Austronesia: that ancient duality old
Sunda and Sahul,  her kiss so brief only a
whisper of Eurasian lip floats on the scent

of spices hanging lucid in the warm air
over Lombok Strait, aah Nusantara,  below
your currents thrill to a rush rich with nutrients

deeper than evolution. life. here too rest the old
Gods, watching Ibu stands to one side of Bapak
old ‘Pak smoking a Kretek, loudly clears earth’s

throat. eons pass between his coughs. ‘Pak doesn’t
wait for a concept of time to be created. no concept
ever thought lasts when your work is the making

of land. here wait Tambora, Rinjani, Agung, Batur
and that rebel alone, Sangeang Api, her brief appearance
as a sunset silhouette, with plans to grow like her cousin

Anak Krakatau: explosive – as if islands could flow
between ribbons of sunset and grey-blue haze, but it
is still ‘Pak Agung’s smoke now lacing its way up

through this dense, cold air. crossing Wallace’s
line we turn, descend. Denpasar airport.
the height of the season.