It’s doubly important not to stare at the suns here:
too luminous a future can blind. The hot air drags
thick with a weight that was not there yesterday
as an avuncular voice cracks across a dun dune,
directing me to oil this and evaporate that, purge
a pastime of all this hope. With grit under finger
nails, my hands dry-open before eyes that squint
-shut while my thoughts dwell on the chores but
then soar through a star-lit score. Flaxen words
fade against a cerulean so dark that black is the
only cue. I sigh. I wait. I toy with three clipped
wings and drop a half-empty cup. The screen is
wiped. Then, across the lone and level sands, I
hear – far, far away – destiny beep and whistle.
Luigi Coppola (www.LuigiCoppolaPoetry.blogspot.co.uk) is a teacher, poet, first generation immigrant and avid rum and coke drinker. Bridport Prize shortlisted, Ledbury and National Poetry Competition longlisted, Poetry Archive Worldview winner’s list, publications include Worple Press’ ‘The Tree Line’, Acumen, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Iota, Magma, Rattle and Rialto.