Stretched out to the East here in an unforgiving land, Cape Byron sits reaching out to the Sun, short grasses, dancing flames in each sunrise, a wash of inks in words… The image bears no relationship, but only the thought.
Skye in Blue
Opaque Sun light after night
These sleeping solar curves
In gentle words to Blue’s escape
Her walk across vast wayfarers’ sky
Red hair flames beneath morning bright
Where shadows dance their stories
Still they dance here from the night
Upon the short grasses to the cape
Writing in a wind between sparse tussocks
Listening to her verse, her soul such songs
These as they flood her mind awash in inks
Hand crafted letters, their arching flow
Arching flow upon sea born tribal winds.