Ash clouds float
In scattered slants of light,
Like flies in a frozen breach,
Blankets of black cotton pad the ground
Gratify not curio nor slant the gaze,
Blot not your sense with stain,
Chin down, eyes forward, stretch the gait,
Of him no thoughts pertain.
In threadbare shoes we travel wide,
Aching feet on gravel grind
One, then the other, and over again
Until a flat crossing we find.
The cockerel's crow pierces the dawn
Young sun kisses the sky,
Soft moon, in blurry cloud
With callous stride and steady hoof
Through rock and rubble glide,
By gap and gully your step still sure
With death we don't collide.