The stone figures in the sand are alive
According to the Indigenous; we
Think of them as Art, created from desire
For the higher, however incompletely
Understood. The tides seem something expressed,
A subtler music, so distant you'll re-
Harmonize the clouds, whose colors can't be guessed,
Just glows caught on their being's minor keys
With the full weight of your longing imposed.
And your emptiness is filled with echoes
Retrieved in quarantined notes, flat impressions ...
We call it, what fades the coastline to gray,
The imagined, what the stone figures would say.
It's the only way to understand them.
