Trees are colorfully painted
In an abstract way
Perhaps painted into the forest
To supplement the burnt terrain
Purple hands too
Reaching down and over
And up to the sky
As if loved ones are searching
For long ago good-byes
By the boomerangs,
One hand touches a crude violet star,
Grabbing into the air for anything,
or anyone living out this far.
As I stare into the sky, I wonder,
if one day I could meet you.
Ancestors, will you boomerang back to me,
and tell me a tale or two?
About my grandma or my grandpa
And others I have never met,
tho’ somehow, I emit their voices.
And persona with every breath
when my body is old and burnt
And returns to the forest terrain
I too will be painted and remembered
In an abstract way, then only love will remain