These bright horizons are a different kind of maze
that we cannot see, because now is absent of it,
mostly grey cloud smeared up in a pompadour
of anger in the waning sky. And a stone tower set
upon the coastal ridge there, ravaged by the saline
air, and waves and storms that hit upon it.
They set out a red pennon, the bloke from the
authorizing committee or some old pensioner, or a
recipient of some inheritance. The lawn bowed
down before the face south, grew steadily and
by design or inaction covered everything. The sea
blue or grey, and the sky both, and the lawn.
