Blood-red mountains, purple clouds,
lava winds, pumice stones,
cliffs and screes, gecko thrones,
ochre lands, dust and gold,
and the path that leads to the Sea,
and the garden where fire flowers bloom,
and these swirls in the sands of time,
broken lines on the palm of my hand.
I give up on my dream of light.
I break the spell. I abandon Hope.
And I look for a place in the shade
to bury the bird found dead along
© Frédéric Georges Martin