Poezja

Transcending the wall,
living in the shell of a moment.
I want to retrieve you.

The bush fires may leave
us separately. The wayfarer
has still the grit to walk.

You walk around
the mount, seven times to
prove the fidelity of legs.

I did not earn you.
Like a comet you crashed
in my lap burning a hole.

What was the desire
of a wailing night, never
reaching the ocean.