The clouds mass in indecision, their grey
Partly silhouettes the features of the land
Offset by the half-dry, half-wet haziness
Found there. Every so often there’s
A jet of blue, lounging lighthouse-like
In the space its travels have earned.
The crops identify the soil, ascribe a
Quiet name that must be sought to
Be heard, and hence nudge the
Listener towards remembrance.
Other spaces are tilled by footfall
And have waived their right to an
Unobstructed view of the sky.
(I usually try not to comment on my own writings, but some I think that some context might be constructive (and fun!) here. I mostly wrote this on a train journey from Edinburgh to London when visiting the UK in April and it lay around in a folder for a while – which I accidentally left in Kyoto after a conference – until I eventually got around to writing it up and editing it slightly. I originally intended to extend it to something more coherent but, after rereading it a few times, I quite like it as it is.)