Man, bird, beast,
dreaming of the dark bracken and mutilated barks;

formless,
tranced stares of countless ancestors,
gaping night and day through
ticktocking eyelids, stoned and rubbed by the passing winds;

a thought growing like an endless centipede, unspeakable in the mind;

a warm throbbing cave of a history of disapproval and regret–

this is beyond you and I as we sit in the sun
and drink our coffee
and small talk politics;

this then is what was promised to us
in all our human dread,
in these dark years;

us, rooted beyond all surprise,

and they who are reclaiming these lands and offering them to the gods

who touch everything to a standstill silence

a silence like death
a silence like love

and silence which is nothing
but of and for itself.