The Rock

The Rock sits at the centre,

in the heart of a people,

in the insistent beat of

the people beyond people.


Desert old and weather worn,

in the nothing,

in the everything,

in the yearnings from yearnings,

that pulse in Country, dust and flesh.


Solid rock, from earth and spirit made,

whistles in the desert wind,

and voices can be heard,



the beating calls of those gone,

“Come back! Come back!

Come back, my people,

come back to this ancient land.”