While I stand on the hill, the sky grows clear
Above the village the milky way shines
The trees are pitch black against the bright lines
The mountain softens, shadows walking near.
In the distance I see a cat approaching
Wild like a tiger, an enormous monster
It roars and it runs; it is my sister
Free like a river, untamed and flowing.
Against the cold rock, I feel my limbs and heart
The blood rushing deep, moving through my spine
My bones connected to earlier times
Where ancestors rest, rest their souls and art
Autumn soils are black, and their bones were white
I hear them singing walking through the night.
London, November 2020.
Marie Beauchamps ©
Photograph: Bart Koetsier ©