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
