Friday, 4 March 2016


Out in the deep blue,
the crumpled plates of our world
are locative coordinates
in this landscape that eludes
all metaphors and similes.

We are here –
and unexpectedly –
like records of old fishing towns,
mismatched maps,
a staggered memory
of being in or on or at.

Colour is a blaze
across the ice fields,
an extravagance,
a touching base.

Against the swell of the Earth,
rock faces sheer against horizons.

The red flare billows out and snaps
against those vagaries, our words.

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