what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice
last year it was as though I’d lost
or a thumb
no captain inside, no
black, no white
colour or season, every stroke
I tried disjointed, the eluding
craft a stone at the nape
oils on the palate
mixed to liquid indifference
it’s the titanium bright
from this height you can
see the grey starts cloudlike
at the foot of that stout hill
I jack-and-jilled down, ends
at that new bridge, no
once you’re up here
all the rest is stippled
in sun, the Scirocco will clear
that mist, scour the palate clean
as velum, lay
out all the new
colours like buttons
down the line of the year
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