(after Tina Makereti)
It arrived unannounced, looked around
and sank into a slumber. The street-animals
walked by, oblivious. The machines wheeled
as they must. The towers leaned into themselves
whenever it turned its face to the sky.
The sky itself said nothing, in the way of skies,
but streamed with a forgiving light.
It awoke, forgiven, unaware it had been gazing
upward, squinting with eyes closed against
the unspoken sky. It stood, looked around,
and began to walk. The street-animals
stopped to watch, the machines pulled up,
loudly attentive. The towers frowned
and their perspectives corrected themselves.
At last the sky opened its eye and the eye
laughed, in the manner of the blind,
the seeing unseeing blind. It walked on,
disturbed by something approaching thought,
but clearer than any words, sadder
than any sigh, deeper than the oceans
that had given it birth. There was no going back.
Alex Skovron is the author of six poetry collections, a prose novella and a book of short stories, The Man who Took to his Bed (2017). His latest volume of poetry, Towards the Equator: New & Selected Poems (2014), was shortlisted in the Prime Minister’s Literary Awards. His next book of poetry, Letters from the Periphery, is in preparation.