Toil of the hands.

 

Discard the remains left brown

I’ve spent my currency

Buying what’s for sale

That can’t be bought.

 

To build on this plot-

Climate and terrain

won’t allow a raw patch

Of paradise to live here.

 

Weariness hushes the grasses

And the rock path ends

Among the weeds who won the battle

Who won the war.

 

Pine trees are guards

Who let it happen,

Forget the names of the plants

It’s easier that way.

 

But the earth hasn’t forgotten

It holds my footprint

on the craggy lines

The nettles have taken it.

 

Only my shadow remains

Blurred into dust

Kissed by the wind

Into a lonely place.

 

15 Nov 04

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