The song is gone; the dance br is secret with the dancers in the earth, br the ritual useless, and the tribal story br lost in an alien tale. br br Only the grass stands up br to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums br posture and mime a past corroboree, br murmur a broken chant. br br The hunter is gone; the spear br is splintered underground; the painted bodies br a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot. br The nomad feet are still. br br Only the rider's heart br halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word br that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse, br the fear as old as Cain.