Asia Overland


Amphitheatres on peaks
Where Roman towns have vanished.
What were they thinking,  the architects?
The growling slaves,  roped in
To hack and haul above the tree-line?

Assimilating Caesar's splendour -
Rubble villa,  red-tile roof,
Rugs under dust-pale olive trees
Older than Roman stone.

The delicate incendiary crackle
Of cigarettes on drowsy afternoons;
Hot tea, in fluted glasses,
And music,  goat-bells on the hill.

Clown-cars,  laden, 
Sunny bicycles,
The cedar-honey breeze -

Something is wearing the world as a mask

Slow dissolve
Misty precipice
Qi