I FEEL THE CONTINENTAL DRIFT
of shifting geography:
the sun no longer
an unfamiliar sea.
A jagged barrier reef surrounds
an inaccesible shore
and ICE – how thick I do not know –
where water was before.
Where is that quiet green valley
where heron and kingfisher flew?
A ridge of stone as bare as bone
BLOCKS IT FROM MY VIEW
A flat and recent Sahara
covers remembered hills
and over the top of my childhood home
the lurid lava s p i l l s.
NO feral forces fed those fires
that swept my past away.
NO howling hurricanes spread those flame
that turned night to brightest day.
NO irresistible seismic thrust
that mountain range.
the heart of things
permitted all this change.