For Paul Brookes’ challenge. The photos are on his blog here.
Clouds of the dead
Spirits we used to say,
the breath of life, drifting slowly,
gently, along the journey
beyond the horizon, to find peace,
in a place we had never seen.
We know now what lies over the hill,
the net of roads and ribbons, the busy sea
threaded with shipping, the beach, the heat,
the pines and palms, deserts and forests,
faces shiny with welcome, happy,
unhappy. We don’t look too closely.
Look rather into this ocean sky,
heaving with the faces of the lost,
hands reaching out in supplication,
the waves of grey, rippling
with contained anger, the reproach,
ready to fall on our careless heads.
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