Despite ringing their own verbal music and
unsung harmonies,
Shadows of various sizes
Converge in the humming of the
Silence in this unknown wetland.
Those bird cries, those voices of water
Losing to the rocks below,
Carry a truth more awful than lies,
An infirmary of flowers
Wither together in man’s grave.
Blue mountains creasing and rippling away
To the limitless horizon,
Hemmed with green shrubs
The forest is reconstructed with the
Long runs of basaltic lavas.
Unspoken roads scroll past
With fierce abandon,
Patchy clouds are in search of address,
Memories swirl not to pass on a tradition
But to break its hold over us.