A pastel fragment of blue wall
under the slope of corrugated roofing, each side of the house
open to the humid weather and sun, vine stalks
twisting around supporting beams
in a marriage of living tendrils
and hewn timbers.
There are no animals in this green field,
no children, and the wires
from the poles have not been led
across the knee-high grasses
to this empty
place where the ground
begins its rise
through rainforest
toward the gray volcano.
Finally here, the sense,
as you had told me,
a private view
within the dreaming mirage
of your land.

Donald Wellman | Mudlark No. 34
Contents | “In addition to animals ...”