Beneath Flagstaff’s elms, where the city exhales,
A drumbeat rises through clipped lawns and stone.
Feathers tremble against the patient air,
Shells speak softly with each lifted step.
One foot strikes earth, the other greets the sky
A brief defiance held in muscle and breath.
Painted faces carry borrowed suns,
Old gods walking between lunch hours and trams.
The crowd stands still, as if remembering
That this ground once answered only ceremony.
For a moment, time loosens its modern grip,
And Flagstaff Garden listens, wholly awake.
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FE 135mm f1.8 GM
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