“For this plant to grow it needs a dozen or so teardrops,
For this child to live it needs blood,
For this Phoenix to rise it needs flames,
For us to remain we need be swept away…”
Thoughts hang above the setting sun like a halo walking across a crown,
There’s milk in kindness and flavour in human,
To understand the mystery of being we arch our heads through fenced places to observe,
Like labelled chickens running away from fate,
Our palms are streamlined and homely and each carries destiny within,
Our feet are firm and placed like roots reaching far into the depths of hell,
In the wake of the setting sun an Agama arches its neck in prayer…
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