By
Oz Hardwick
Crossings where none wait
Stations where none board or leave
Rails sing of moving
Air hangs heavy like damp rags
Summer settles on cows’ eyes
Cows search barren ground
Terra cotta wilderness
No shade offers rest
One figure stoops in blown dust
Carries water from the well
Heat swims like water
Denies trust in horizons
Far off liquid stone
Parched branches drink deep on dust
Twisted fingers courting flame
Twisted and lifeless
Flags forget celebrations
Summer’s dreamless sleep
Shuttered villas swallow cool
Empty darkness waits within
Fired earth on empty paths
No-one on the empty bench
Old paint cracks and flakes
Once lovers carved their names here
Clumsy letters lost in time
Time moves slowly here
Church bells ring but once a week
Harsh across flat lands
I think of beads and bowed heads
The young priest is a stranger
Skeleton stranger
Dark branches promise colour
Dead trees hint at life
Breezes breathe resurrection
A subtle rising to lakes
Valleys open wide
Offer succour to strangers
Leaves remember green
Languidly drink iced water
Wrap shadows round burning brows