“Lagoon”

it doesn’t resist your steps,
forcing heavy legs to limp
through thick thigh-high
silt and water, parting fronds
falling down to drape across
your shoulders, catching foreheads
with the odd pin-pricking thorn.

the trees drinking so deeply
pack themselves around you,
almost marvelling themselves
to waking at this strangeness
trampling through the roots
eyeing the orchids perching
in fragile perfection on logs.

“Bloodied Roots”

beneath black boughs
drinking in sun and rain,
we bled ourselves
among the roots.

wind ran through valleys,
catching dead leaves
and dead men – it screamed
through lives lost and lived.

our Gods dined on blood and salt,
freely spilt and freely given –
they sheltered us, hinted at unknowables
and watched while we were cut down.

“The Wind”

Silent thought and song
reverberates around me.
Into words I walk.

Through thoughtless fancy
I sit amongst the white trees
while freedom flies from me.

In struggle, I step
above the tenuous treetops
to stop and see it all.

I raise my hands up
to feel the wind strike my palms.
I felt so free, then.

When will the wind cut
these old, rusted chains asunder
and carry me away?