UNTITLED

Demonstrating just how lost we are,

How strange the air,

In worlds so far,

To need a private solar flare,

 

So no one mentions you can stare

Intensely at a yellow flame

And, in New York or anywhere

The results turn out the same:

 

With fire branded on the eye,

When its prominences pass,

Its mirror images reply

Which, for sun, is simply grass -

 

So science ruins the magic,

Replacing bougainvillea with a weed,

A loss of faith that should be tragic,

But which in truth we shouldn’t need.

 

finished 6:59 pm on the beach, Renezvous Bay, Anguilla

November 20th, 1997