Sunset lit crystal blue sky softens evening
sights, easing heat swirls along deep dug
channels and birdsong drifts,
a stretch of coiled black tarmac
runs beneath not visceral pitch as
dusk approaches granular strip
edges the road,
and a beetle black crawls along, oval
shaped, creased down its back hawling,
legs like a rowing eight seeming to
dip into the strip,
as I look down there is no sense in this
movement, no goal, no refreshment, but
carrying on whatever into the night.
Stretching my kneck upwards a jet ebony
black woman walks along wreathed by mountains,
Sierra Nevada perched on her head a rare
sight in these parts,
far off coal black hills sprout a tatty covering of
green flecked tweed, ribbons of meltwater
rush down to where I stand spring still
flushing,
in the fast approaching twilight seems like
a sleeved arm lyeing on the land a tanned
knuckle of dried rock stretches out - wrinkled,
sunburnt calluses around.
All creatures share this abundance
turned from semi-desert into an oasis
by Iago and his Moores.