Aitchana: ‘I’m a dark horse running on a dark race course’ – george

I always loved the mountain more
the way it caught the clouds
hanging on the precipice,
an invitation,
for the rains that didn’t fall overhead
still greeted us somehow
to find their holy name
in capitulation,

they trickled off the backs somewhere
of distant great, grey earth
and welcomed to the watersheds,
they drowned to quench our thirst
once rain that danced a holy dance
so distant from this land
could kill us all in flood and spite
but brought about rebirth,

and there along the olive grove
where stream and river quickly rose
were almond trees and sacred leaves
and all good things that truly please,
and there a green I do not know,
that danced in light but loved shadow
gave chase to a space of dust and dirt:
that from the flood we’re granted worth.


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