On the eaves it says Fish caught daily In waves of rope There is a yoke Sunburned in your shoulders and your back Where through the ache bright day You bore wings I imagine the mottled taste Of vanilla and salt strawberry Light globes swim Big eyed and with that Lost but stalwart resignation Of deep creatures unwillingly brought To gasp the evening-coloured air The door is screened By the flat Neapolitan droop Of tentacles, slap an insult Above the threatening continental shelf, a monstrous Toroid eye, eats insects in the hard Whip-crack, a singe Of rising oil and burning wings Datura noxious in the chitter ricochet From the loom and pedestal Of a turning fan The caged steel weight Makes me think Of Icarus falling In burning oscillation Just that one decisive moment Our grievance at the sinking sun At the fish-eyed mirror Of our recalcitrant misdemeanours While you melt In eternal denial On repeat
