Walking without a map,
meandering though long grass with the Tassie Tracker,
wondering about that rock that rises before us-
another orgy of paint and pleasure?
Hunger in the belly
Thirst on the tongue
It’s time to find shade and shelter;
water and salty crisps satisfy simple desires.
Noyallya is waiting, up the rise and around a cliff face.
Noyallya has been holding her rocky home for
some infinity of space and time.
And what a meeting-
face to face, body to body.
Blood surges, eyes behind the eyes open
to her magnificence.
She is all that is woman, all that is sacred.
My soul is restored by her presence, by her creation song.