It’s too close now
with your horizon burning a hot haze of mirages- just outside my eyes.
It’s too hard now
like Colombo sun on the back of my neck in March
– mathematically perpendicular, straight above a rule’s measure-
like you shining across three-thousand two-hundred eighty-three miles.
The air around is gathering, preparing to vibrate
to ‘Darling, it’s so good to see you again’,
everything – the sea, the sun, the air
ready, in place, waiting as honest as glass…
I shouldn’t jinx it