This park was once a meeting-place
for those who left no lasting trace;
now dust embodies them, but dust
can carry energy, not shape.
Hieratic ibis immigrants
host haughty conclaves here instead,
maintain an air of dignity
while scrounging scraps of bread.
Beneath the grass, earth hoards
sparse shreds, evidence of other ways;
the archives of a myriad eucalyptus
leaves record my face.
Meeting-place
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105053100566
Свидетельство о публикации №105053100566
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