And the knowledge of the hedgerow plant, I found embedded in leaf veins ... like in mine, etched along blue lines of a notebook. In the ripples on the remnants of water that pooled, before the mudflats claimed them are the striations of  ol'butot near  Naivasha. His stories tell of caves, a gleaming obsidian of a pre historic introspection. Do forty day fasts suffice to exorcise the springs of sulphur or the forced baptism of a flash flood washing six souls to Hades ? The sun glinted at me through a narrowness of fate, a gorge of interminable seconds and I marvelled at the strata of time in a warp, for it blurted out a moan.

Love spoke in nuanced layers of molten flow that crawled to stillness. Can I not say that stone speaks? A couple of hundred years back in time, self titled discoverers  had seen land that had not been unseen by the thousands who lived for thousands until then. So yes, the strata spoke to me, like the striations in the leaves and the lines that were everywhere telling stories of interminable seconds. Time grooves like a death valley in an engraving, etched like a memory of that which has never been, ripples on sand, circles on water,

Stick girl embering,
Lollipop meandering,
Molten toffee trail.

Scented by amorous
reflections of the past

I do not dare
to go closer

Often i repent
about keeping it still

A bearer of dreary hues
that imprisons the now
and drains its mirth

The sojourn of that drape
is coming to an end.....

There will be a time
that we'll stand above and laugh
for the molten strands of the past

Changes and grows and bores -
The seasons, as fall does spring,
Wishing for adventure and fun
When life is repetitive boring,
Wishing for dull and familiar
When life is fast unpredictable,
Discontent with the old taken
New is wished for, thus craving
This will be the human heart -
Always wanting, always depart
Of contentment, and always it
Finds change and changing, yet
Stills for a time enough to rest
Makes way for the new but does
Forget not the old and rusted,
It finds, it claims, it renews, and
It outgrows, rots, buries for new,
This will be its gifted curse living
Until its last very beat breathing
Fickle, want, and sentimental,
Human hearts as molten metal
As forever shifting unto death
Accursed gift of everlasting unrest.