| Three
Poems H.J. Elliot |
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Chant I want to land somewhere in South America airstrip clinging to sides of cliffs jumping out in jeans chullo and manta from sheep I have not yet met Andes rising out of the mist to greet me staff and llamas, goats to guide me they will grow me up in this ancient new culture, these mountains I will be bright, like a fast star burning pink and yellow thrown together dancing I will not fade away I will not fade away I will not fade away *** |
Pottery wheel spinning, flinging orange, red bits of clay into the kiln and lie there baking until that precious water vessel, pot emerges and carries me to my loom where Incan blue and Aztec red lay themselves down together and join and part. a pattern only they are familiar with creating sacred purple in diamonds mined out of the hills of memory ***
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