Gilt head bream


In the valley in the woods where the dead lye with the dying they found me and my children.

They took us to a small tent on a grassy bank. - Not men but vacancies with orders and uniforms and guns.

Was this, the last stronghold destroyed? The last hideout found out? Here,

where the trees are like peacock feathers overhead, and the stream runs below us like the muscles of a deer.

Amongst the bodies are the skeletons of giants, white, luminous, animated, lifting themselves up,

rising from the suffocating rot of those unjustly slain.

Immortality coming to us from the dead to do the work of life.

They rise and gain the vital flesh of all our loves.

Of being born within the sound of the bow bells and of becoming a celestial voyager, for example…..

- And of going home to Africa, when all is known of the child and of the state.

Our beauty blesses and is blessed when we come to that place, and we forgive and are forgiven.

The welle of grace is in us, and all creation succeeds by the see, that being love we loves servant be.

As the godess and god, is nature; forest and ocean, birds and bees, and you and me.