Porto Palma For Andrea (Peter O’Neill)
birds shitting gently from vertiginous heights upon the skeletal roofs which frame the mountains whose crossbeams are like old dried wood collected from the beaches where the surf rolls an aZure prairie of white horses and the little index of coast a complex of rock promontories awaiting the soft tramp of naked feet while out from the bamboo high overhead the bee circle for pollen these windows offer alternative perspectives like paintings you can open them and enter other worlds the world of a hundred thousand images among these frames of memory their glasses cracked and dusted mixed with the bitterness of yesteryears andiamo vieni qui! just like hornets nests witnessing the world through other perspectives like down upon the sands with the 100 000 voices whispering to one the little fork like tongues rustling in your ear puberty shifts holding herself awkwardly by sea she understands instinctively the precise geometry of the cutting words each space between so carefully measured to such exact purpose even in wrongdoing which completely astonishes her awakening then as if from some trance she shifts nervously upon the stones seeing in a single vision the whole legacy of flight all of the anguish of her adolescence borne also so heavily by her brother who merely seeks to contemplate alone such is his particular simplicity his growing anatomy both drowning as they are within a whole world of new sensation unaware of the all too prying eyes upon them at a time when they are most vulnerable 15