Ordinary soul

stands up to trace a pattern

the length of a cracked planet

with no good excuse

follows the crush of mountains

along coin-coloured ocean
you do the reading

mark the margin lucky red

watch the paragraphs turn out

greener than childhood

black with slow, fat mosquitoes

stone Amida’s patient guards
so forget to ask

all your beautiful questions

the old man selling tickets

the cat on the beach

the fog-white sunrise at four

their own cool explanations.