Ajanta Judd 

There is a bushfire in my heart A sudden eruption Spewing forth heat

She walks not to arrive but to listen to the rustle of eucalyptus breath, to the whisper of the dying, to the hum of ancestral chords

I am only satisfied when it burns cold When the brittle edge of the chill Kisses heat’s searing mouth To the west, to the east, the north an