On the Island of Madeira where mountain firs comb water from clouds after dusk the Levadeiro cools warming tempers of farmers in drought. Across the Atlantic (on a coast by the Pacific) I cycle round a place of learning in the lap of another mountain; sail an avenue of palms traverse El Camino Real. Here morning fog masks silicon(e), dairy-free yoghurt politesse and privilege while TV news-breaks trill of ‘empty pool’ parties to save a dry Cal. State. Under vaulted windows light rains down on the pages of an adoptee citizen (who walked with placards here who saw the Redwood bloom) I drink songs of quiet deputies sift bones of poems and dreams— when evening comes sleep rolls in like a blanket, stitched with a thousand precious needles to comb this life from the day.
From: Vol.08 N.01 – Embodied Belonging: Towards an Ecopoetic Lyric
by Willo Drummond