I smell gas and coffee
cold tapping feet on the marble floor
the cold seeping into the bones - from the living quarters
ah - the electric fire
and once more cold sheets
and creaky beds
howling dogs and motorbikes
The bakers are busy rolling bread shapes
we are sent to get a bag full
five o'clock in the morning
where have you surfaced from child?
and where are you going?
I am a child of foreign lands
The well in the garden
imaginations running wild
and pathways in the garden
run along them
and you fall and hurt your knees
from one generation to an other
fear of the beckoning nuns
the walk of shame - in front of the congregation
the slight breeze - forever - unsettles me
Mary's veil sways mysteriously
a dead body in the coffin – stirring?
arches, marble, frankincense - intoxicating….....
is Christ going to stand up?
Is he going to walk down that aisle?
tragic deaths and mourned pasts
and murders - in Africa
do they really contain dead people?
The dried out valley
the forest up the mountain
with the big rocks and stones
it harbours more......
The lone man living on the deserted farm
keeping cheese in the drawers
and goats in the kitchen