Erasure Poetry- The Hawkesbury

It was a sweet thing of a still morning,
river-oaks whispering, white birds
roosting in the trees like so much washing.

The land stood upside down in dimply green water,
a shiny morning, the river with a brush of wind
that sent handfuls of sparkles across the water.

Boats sliding up fast if tide was with them
to the reedy place where the First Branch
wound down among the hills.

That country was full of overhangs
where soft yellow rock big enough
to stand in were full of light the color of honey.

You could sit there and watch the breeze
shivering through the leaves, the river beyond
a band of color like a muscle.

When you sit in the rock the bush sounds
come to you sharper, like a big ear, listening.
The birds were company enough.

Taken from the book I just finished reading, Sarah Thornhill, by Kate Grenville by erasing all but the above from the first chapter and rearranging the order. It's a harshly beautiful book that often reads like poetry of a girl coming of age in Australia. This Erasure Poetry, a form of found poetry, is a prompt from Anna at dVerse Poets Pub for Meeting the Bar. She lists some fascinating examples so check it out.