The sun goes down while
The colour goes up
And it’s a beauty
A flood of neon yellow
The colour goes up
And it’s a beauty
A flood of neon yellow
How does the physics do that?
How does the physics do that?
I am in Kashgar’s thrall. Its people, its buildings, its colours, its smells. Its efficient simplicity, driven by foot and hoof on these back alleys and lanes. The smiles; the furrowed brows; the twinkling eyes, the hard glares: of shopkeepers and shoppers.
All the better
In bunches
A sun hangs low and wan
Weakly luminous
Shadowless
Its light dispersed
By an atmosphere
Still, unmoving
Thick with particles
But every now and again
The sun shines through
For weeks, or months
Shape
Beauty
Insight
Possibility
The friends we can make
Of broken friends
Surprise and delight
Like a lover
Or a mentor