11 January 2010

Visiting Europe

The stink of impermance chokes me
as the grand cathedral lies
that it will stand forever,
piercing heaven.

The land that closes round it is broken
by the plough; made young
by blood and terror; by memory
renewed.

I am too old to stand, here,
with my bones of ancient dust
from the country of the Dreaming,
crying for my home.

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