the slow old
women and men
their abandoned faces
ideal for the chiselled
edge of the wind,
the absolute eyes
of children,
meeting everything
dirt blobs jewelled,
rusty strips of tin,
ducks, dogs, flowers,
cows moored
deep in grass,
taking time to fathom
the unrelenting land,
these days,
as the maze
of silver briar
tightens in my skull.