Ancestral roots

Under the dark skin of a deep world,
circles beat, veins resonate.
The ground remembers. It whispers in circles.
the songs of before, which silence gives.

Each point is a star print,
a memory erected without words,
a thread stretched between sky and rock,
where the origin, in a spiral, takes flight.

Here, the step no longer follows the measure,
it slides to the ancient rhythm of the corollas.
The shapes open, cling, reassure —
mapping of a crazy memory.

And in the fire of the lands of ochre and amber,
the brush digs, collects, gathers.
It is not painting, but a language,
a body that speaks to bodies that tremble.