Clouds So Like

In the rubble of the future we long
for our past, desire comes over you like
a voice in the trees, our green disaster
away from the interior, our hope to find
along the estuary some device
to break the tight frame within which
earlier in those louche apartments where
we never were, all the stars we could see
and the sound of a million little wheels
and that mournful call outside, machine
or animal, we couldn’t tell, or so far
underwater, what fragile purchase sand
sound occluded, seeing and being seen,
the water sonorous and morphing like
something from another planet but then
clouds so like icebergs, the crew took affright.

 

 

 

 

 

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