Ode to Friday: Wright

Boyd

From the broken bone of the hill
stripped and left for dead,
like a wrecked skull,
leaps out this bush of blood.

Out of the torn earth’s mouth
comes the old cry of praise.
Still in the song made flesh
though the singer dies —

flesh of the world’s delight,
voice of the world’s desire,
I drink you with my sight
And I am filled with fire.

~ Flame tree in a quarry, Judith Wright (Australian, 1915-2000)

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Image: Nebuchadnezzar on fire falling over a waterfall, Arthur Boyd

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