Two blue suns against a smear

Of brushed-on yellow cloud appear


When I close my blinded eyes

Against the lilac-orange skies


Of sunset in the tropics:

The brain invariably picks 


The reverse of what it sees

For its inner memories:


An exuberance of growth 

In the jungle creates both


Fragrance on the evening breeze

And a hotbed of disease


In the rotting forests of the sun:

As global machination


Is loose enough to posit

A position and its opposite,


Such constant vacillation frees

The world to wave the seas:


Believe in visions though we may,

They work as well the other way.


August 31st, 2003

Tippet Alley