(4) Horizons
Horizons
Ablaze at sunset.
Dotted with wind-turbines, cartwheeling grey flamingos.
Two shades of machine metal, bisected by a stray hair.
When the sea is black and the sky is black, and you know it more like a sound.
Indistinguishable from our own but for two moons hovering.
New and full of possibility.
Ablaze again, only this time it isn’t sunset.
Rotated ninety degrees
A glasswork paperweight with frozen petrol bloom sitting on a grey-flecked mirror.
In every direction you look – north, south, east, west – and you realise too late the old merchant sold you a bad map.
Rotated 360 degrees.
Grasped, drawn in close, right up to the eyes, and still never, never to see beyond