Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Point of reference, datum
without bearing on our flight plan,
a wayward oriental tropic sunset –
all Conrad and copper wire on a trash
heap’s flame, then untimely salmon,
flamingo-feathered cirrus over
the Indian Ocean flared, dimmed
as local cumulus broke cover,
Sumatra was below.
One evening at Tom Crawford’s
seriously a Wellington romantic
declared, "I should hate to think
I could lose my capacity
for innocence," pushing thirty more
years away with both hands.
I thought My God! meaning
How may one not
who could only peer
at that unlikely jade or emerald
tract of jungle, marvelling
"Down there are tigers,"
Joseph Conrad (1857-1924)