In the country
held softly by your hands,
this hill is your hip,
this sun, your eye. Three deer
leap across your torso,
a lion stalks along your arm.
I kiss the corner of your mouth
to hear the murmurs
emanating from the clouds,
the fluting waters of a river
streaming over mossy rocks.
The sky is awash with colour –
blues, greens and purple,
a double rainbow
merging into a single dance
like our lifelines
pressed close together.
This country is wild.
This country is home.
Wings Over Waters 