The Text Featured on This Broadside
Always Elizabeth Springer
I’m caught
Between the dry horizon
With its light-flayed buildings
And ant-tunneled walls, veined
With crumbling termite roads –
The red mud-tracks of ancient journeys
The evidence of frail pasts
Traced on wind-eaten maps
I drift between that harshness
And the stifling
Mouth-filling perfumes of the wet coast
With its heavy scented fruit trees
Its riotous leaves and delicate ferns
Its opulence of floating-greens
My figure patterned by the banded light
Of pliant, breeze-drifting palms
Their swaying fronds and fluttering tips –
An eyelash kiss
On humid skin and lips
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