The flag of the new republic will be woven by fire and coloured by ash

It will be permanently upside down until abolished.

Salute.

Salute our new constitution written in blood declaring the whole country a sacred site,

still It feels futile,

to rearrange the stones and create new patterns when bulldozers wait around the corner

In the corner of a church it is quiet,

until the people arrive too loud to hear their God,

too solid to let the sacred sound pass through,

becoming an echo,

the same sound as yesterday.

The sound of men yelling in parliament.

An oath to Queen or to country, is still an oath,

and every oath a blasphemy

A blasphemy creates a jail for the garden of eden,

A blasphemy mocks the inside of a temple,

They built the temples like they build refugee detention centres

like they built the missions,

like they built parliament house,

surrounded by walls so they can’t see outside,

and we can’t see in.

This was not the poem I was meant to write today.

Looking up from a temenos

My feet on the ground,

heavy,

unable to think positive thoughts.

The tide will return empty and create again.