Art and Drama

(From wikipedia)

Bold Thunder in the Sky, beware,
Victoria Falls to earth, a simple trip,
some fault with ground that catches ragged edges.
And she stands, and checks for injury,
with sun behind her, gold and silver sky-seen,
through the trees that makes the land which makes us.
Rearranged by solar wind, she walks in time-lapse,
dragged across the green land,
the wet land, the rain-and-wind-punched rock,
of airstrips moored in oceans,
ellipsis green and white and black,
upon the sward between us and the sea.

A wood, a copse, small forest hiding game and outlaws,
here marks all invasions with concealing archaeology,
with trees for couples holding tight to night time,
with greenery that swallows all ejections,
washed inland by walking crowds of blind humanity,
dropped for ease and out-of-sight forgetting.
And bodies, forgotten humans, lost like paper,
jettisoned and buried, mean it never happened,
that two-seconds' anger pushing blood,
from heart to brain to arms to death; cries death
and resurrection in a memory of one you loved
so little time ago and how now they never were.