Something or someone calls
not from the dream time
but from below the sea
where the sleek seal dives
or in the belly of the rock
that gives the shape to water
or the land itself wanting to rise
through dry waving grass
and release on the wind
or perhaps it’s just me
struggling each day
to find my birth,
coming into the world
again and again
with a soul, a spirit
and such a frail body,
weak before the forces
of time and knowledge,
broken like a twig
in the hands of the earth
yet returning each morning
to the altar of the sacred,
singing with the only voice I have
the words of belonging
sung to the sea,
passing like a cloud.