In Beatrice, love found
Dante’s fascination.
Whom shall I call on?
Come…. walk with me
Among the granite stones for
Here the skylark calls.
No seasons here
As time has lost its taste
For immanent change.
A blush of breeze
And the dry grass bends through
The field of stones as
they are in possession of memory.
Walking amongst the stones,
Pursued by the past,
Living then, not now.
Listen. Hear the………
Whispers of the dry grass
And the scattered, skitterings of insects
And the call of distant crows.
Then, later, faintly falling stars.
Created on, and is of, the traditional country of the Ngarigo people.
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