The sky’s inscrutable
turning all colours
before my very eyes
and back
to grey, turning itself
to black
under the evening’s
influence.
So, it’s been said.
So we’ve got to
say it all again
but with our words
and especially because
what comes out of our
structuring logics
has the keys
- desires to eat us -
before we’ve recorded
all the ways light hits
cloud travelling at speed
out over the sea
and your face to me
does things
everyone knows but
but but oh -
oh, the details.
The details bend my fingers
into pohutukawa
blossom arrangements
just when I’m wondering
how the world might
end.
It’s miraculous
again, again
again…
