The wafting Libyan breeze
lifts the eucalyptus leaves
till tiny seeds rattle, then shiver
waking the giant from an epoch’s peace.
The moon is a sun dimmed by night;
shadows flit and crickets savor life.
Worn pebbles dry-grate and scrape
while numbed tendons tingle and ache.
The shadows of an elm fall full
furtively fondling a remnant pool.
In the dark in its roots flickers an eel
darting, plucking its random meal.
Long ago wondrous men shaped their bliss
in currents stronger deeper than this…
The eucalyptus trees stand tall.
‘Flow! Live!’ voices sometimes call,
‘May the leaves’ soothing silver flutter
give wing, solace, and ardor
and the crickets’ nightly song
woo pilgrims to this place ever long.’
