From Kings Canyon
Outback. Australia. (Oct 2006)

Ruth Sancho

In the Sacred City of LuritjaMen
The Wind twirls in concentric circles
and it is placated, in its streets, its rocky tail.

The Wind twirls
Twirls the Wind
Twirls.

Drilling the stone,
Aboriginal sediment,
It creates painting caves
where the Myth stays

The Wind twirls,
The Wind twirls, twirls.

Anthill of stories,
of mysteries of honey
that survive
Camouflage,
in drops of resin,
on millennial trunks
Or in red dragonflies
on a linen of dust.

And Twirls
And twirls
The Wind twirls,
twirls.

And it is remote memory
of some old ritual
splitting in time,
While the Sun paints us
A watercolor sky.

And twirls
Twirls,
Because the Wind twirls.

Ruth Sancho
Melbourne

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