whatever land you’re in, i’ll know it by the elemental books
and the babbling brooks of your palatial retreat.
i’ll know you're there when i cross the boundaries of your remove
by the scent of your moon-barrels of rain
and the warped coin of your realm
slipped into my palm by sleight of hands
too small to get wet
in a pond.

your ripples will find me attuned to your island by kite-string
and periwinkle post-Its. my radio will have you mapped
to a dun hill where other hills are chaste and smothered in fog.
but bitten by sunshine on the nape of a shadow -
I’ll know you for your regal fatigue
and embrace you with the love
at my core, so that our magnets may kiss
and restore your silhouette
to my blindspot
like a vital conundrum
with an operatic lisp.