45: A Sketch

broad panorama of your eyes
a digitally-sketched sprawling world,
not yet shaded.

the blocks and squares of this age
press against Antonian dusty sands and
obstinate arbols.

everything, everything, a sliding slope,
a pioneer’s bridge into the next,
slide down, dive down, on an honour-roll drive

Madrid’s three candles draped in sky:
artfully, artlessly, throat-stoppingly

who said you can’t see wind?
well you can – you can

lifted, lifted away, always alzado
the ghost of the mountains that my eyes paint in
long sweep of the greyred and the
dusky, dusty, misplaced desert
filling up the sky.


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