There are parallel worlds to this one. Driving,
I view Durban sun rising up the ridge from over the sea,
like a bright garment put on for the day,
and the air already liquid with heat.
Memory is a glittering fish
darting through the shallows.
When I was small, the world was magic, green,
impossibly full of light, longing.
The limit of adulthood lifts at times,
like scales found on the eyes of snakes,
transparent, allowing a vision
of all you thought you’d lost.
Like now, the viewed city gleaming, a rough pearl
asymmetrical, opalescent, what it is,
and not smoothed to fit a mould.
Set it on a silver ring, I’ll wear it.
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