By | 1 February 2013

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.

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