Harvest

There is nothing now

between

the desert and the sea

but the great curved blade

of the sky

For the hill

is the whetstone

on which you sharpen

your scythe

And the hollow

you fill

with silt blue water

To cool the steel

At dusk

You hone the horizon

To a fine edge

and the flying sparks

set fire to the wheat

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About Mikaela

I am an artist and writer living in the Perth Hills
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