The sky, on this island
is never too crowded.
Today, tomorrow –
a soul single-horned.

That banquet of desire,
never quite appeared.
More, a slow soaking
from sweet plum rain.

How now, I know this place.
Fireflies now fly,
grass, water and air –
all the same colour.

An eternity, in an afternoon.
With name and language borne aloft.
Each mountain and river,
a standing form.