If you stand at the top of a slope with the sun behind you
your shadow runs on for miles, for ever
the curvature of the earth takes it beyond sight.
If you stand on a stern deck and the sea is an inclined plane
sailing into the west at sunset your shadow
is an infinite harpoon launched into space.
It’s hard to see the village of Guernica now
without seeing Picasso first. The arc of light from the present
bends around the painting to fall not on the actual past
but on somewhere adjacent, the Derby Day transmission,
the Kinder Scout mass trespass. Hiraethu is a verb
a continuous present. Rose madder
madder than your lips, blue in the dawn
lost in the stars where every least thing has mass.
The set of all possible numbers is smaller
than a single shoe washed up on Dover beach.
Weave a radio and name the colours
no one will ever see. Reset your passwords
bug the walls, the future is fixed and certain
but we cannot control or even imagine the past