after
Kellas and Couani
at
first ghosts were the only white people
then
trousers and everyone could be painted
white
– washed up or bandaged
sheets
could be hung on a line
a
purest flag to fly so seeming
the
sun new every day
and
hello clouds, this is country
a
few stray lines
blew
in from another work
fleece
of the dream you could say
(how to read it?)
each shape symbolic of the fight with pillows
you
swim from it but it’s the sea
as
funnel blue blown
wander
lonely
meet
my fate somewhere
Horus
in among, falcon-headed
were
gods so Cirrus-thin?
Parjanya
drives the clouds before him
air
beyond air
past
death
the
forest of streets
and
leading there
see
where the poet
cast
a bridge into cloud
like
a ladder lain flat
under
the carpet with you!
and
the town turned into traffic
and
the cars climbed like this
into
a hope of sky at last
see
where the smog drifted down
and
we lay
the
smoke will never wake you
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