The Magpies

He wanders in an empty field;

Firm ground

Stood at the edges of modernity.

–

The air itself breathes deeply,

Then exhales,

As though returning home.

–

The magpies hop across the ground,

Silently dignified,

He salutes this stately parliament.

–

This is the religion he has picked.

Passed on

By the corrupting mouth of man.

–

That trivial rhyme, a song of insecurity,

Pulls on the tether

Back to the past we care to imagine.

–

So there, in an ancient silence,

He prays

To tame his galloping mind.

–

Watch him at the altar,

Firmly grounded,

Outside of modernity.