Nothing but the dust of our ancestors blows through these ancient corridors. Messages of old, carved, forgotten like misfed semaphore.
No one knows why and no one knows how, you left us this monument to interpret in the now.
I’m drawn to stand here in the bracing wind, looking at my place in the universe, is it just sin?
Nothing in my mind and nothing in my hand, nothing but the dust of our ancestors blows all through this land.
D Jan 2017