I rarely attempt 'creative writing' as such, but did so whilst on holiday. Rather than leave the results in a notebook like a pressed flower never to be seen by human eyes I've typed them here (not without difficulty) thus consigning them to the aether...
This time a green place held
by far long cliffs:
white rusty strips of stone unravelling
across the horizons, above
the deep slopes of trees, above
the red roofs, the well
of air -
where we move around and look
(The cliffs grasp at unknown sky-distance like highways, the brindled roofs
are sometimes new, sometimes anciently festively tumbling, weighed
in place by stones.)
My tourist question - where
can I get a map
a stork's nest in an old tower,
salt cod in a stew,
shouts and engines in still air,
some bright wine poured from a surprising height?
Gutters, papers, shoes, boundaried
for other people?
If I had it could I hold it
to read its legend
(that is not my own key or any key to where I am known);
hold it flat
in the rising breeze?