30 December 2014


It was waiting in the distance
A ridge at the edge of the horizon
An olive grove, I thought

It took years for me to get there
Walking a little each evening
Mildly curious, expecting nothing 
My careless drifting across the landscape

Later at home I found the gash
Slicing its way over existing scar tissue
I let my fingers touch it
It was exquisite  a secret wound

I would nurture this one
Drape it in all my intricate finery
Bandage it with black laces
Read to it from ancient story books

What beautiful olive trees I said
Staring from the periphery

I spied flames somewhere at heart’s centre
A blaze was raging
Radiating heat and a multi-hued riot
Burnishing the path and the stones beyond

A scattering of newborn stars
Caused the fire to appear striking
Its veins hypnotizing in the twilight 

I yearn to be a firewalker in the woods
A barefoot dancer upon burning coals 

Only the cold can scorch