The sky, an untouched magnolia,

glimpsed between high-perched houses

on the crest of the land.

Eveningtime is laden

with the breath of the long-departed;

nameless footsteps slumber

among the dry stream-beds

and are brushed by the slow shadow of the cran

that snatched ancient Ibycu

from the stones:

between the parched banks of mignonette,

sour is their land,

drowing, almost, in this

bright blaze of moon-light.