On the Broom Road

A harree ta fow,A toro ta farraroA now ta tararta

—Teearmoar, high priest of Paree

(The palm-tree shall grow,The coral shall spread,But man shall cease.)

I am a traveler on the Broom Road,on the broad ledgeof quietest coralpounded and polishedby the calico skirtsof the missionaries'leaden wives,by the bare feetof the drum beatafter they leaveand before they arrive,through pale sandsor a red dirtdown a blood trackwhen the islands quarrel,I am a traveler on the Broom Road.

I am a traveler on the Broom Road,on the drenched rimof the lime hollowby fern foamedand by brine brokenwhere all is lostand nothing is missed,on the elders' track,on the eel's back,over shale sheetand split schist,by time's flattened roar awokenbetween pirate and pearlwhere none can follow,I am a traveler on the Broom Road.

I am a traveler on the Broom Road,a braider of bridgesthrough rifts of bamboowhere the moon splitslike a fruit huskedby tall palmsin the bone arcades,past the sheer shiftof curve and cleftwhere nothing is leftof all I have madestep by stepfrom the day's dusts,up from the greenand into the blue,I am a traveler on the Broom Road.