Grey and tired the land lay
not resigned but exhausted
skin bleached to clean the stains of fallen warriors
the hush of the wind a reminder of the fragility of this peace
the silent grasses an empty signal of things lost.
I come as a pilgrim, tent and stake,
to cling for a night to her unforgiving hide
to hold my hand to her stars
and shield my eyes from her moon
to take the sandals from off my feet
and quake at the un-consuming flames rising from the dried earth.
Here the locust, the frog and I,
we are all of a kind,
unwelcome, unwitnessing,
and met with grace.
