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What Palatine mess
is this writhing fieldscape?
Plough-furrowed or a rudder’s wake?
A dark sgraffito of
naked earth, where
The shivering world wriggles in animation
All at sea yet anchored by meaning
A dwelling shimmers, heat hazed in
trowel smears that belong in oil - not gouache
Transgressing hedges and borders and media
in a fluid, unrolled bottle
The white ground, a back-lit glow
softened with luminescent shades
on an incoming tide
It’s powered drive floats
a crest-borne track,
a heaving verge
and an unhinged gate
No sooner has the eye travelled
and settled
than the subject has moved (again)
A machine of infinity
the Buddhist Lighthouse intention
manifest in a moment
of perpetual motion
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