The wind urges the rain, romances her
as I step to the whisper of legends.
The faint foot-fall of ghosts dance to her rhythm,
myths excite a dulled imagination
and there's no clock-tick to where I ought to be.
Through springy moss, boulder verterbrae push,
telegraph complaints of sheep fade to eternal dusk..
On this day, in this place thoughts form to fill the universe.
I am as helpless as the grass bent low in the rain,
as distant as that star I will never touch.
Yet close to those who trod this land so long ago.
I close my eyes, raise my arms
and know I can fly.