We listen to trees on the frontline.
We plot the campaign.
We creep through the night
to launch our attack,
stand against the insurgent.
We train, keep watch,
remain vigilant
always,

yet, our soldiers are not
young men hypnotised by glory
or daydreams of violence.
In our army, menopausal women
and teenage daughters
negotiate with students,
future politicians,
an old man or two,
but not one general.

We have come all this way
because our usual days
did not contain
the momentum needed
to win the war.

Here our actions are direct,
our bodies across the line
to stop coal in its tracks,
delay the burning,
cost them dollars,
one day here and later another,
relentless
for our tomorrow.

In camp, the temperature finally drops,
a wallaby thumps,
night birds call.
Despite mental checklists,
an alarm set for three,
despite the battle,
there is peace being here,
equal and free as nowhere else,
doing all we can do
for our collective
home.