Hymn To Something Localised Poem by Andrew Lee

The evening dusts settle where they like,

except on the evergreen tips of mangrove roots

which are finely concealed and nourished

within the riverbank mud

where finely finned skippers frolick and march

their unique march.

Different haven for different species,

as I do my own style of skipping

among these lines that bear the sort of earlobes

where the flitting of a mosquito can be detected,

and the tinkle of a coin becomes an echo

through the ages as long as someone comes into

this jungle of words, and John Ashbery is once again

doing a painting of magnificent waves and crests

and Henry David Thoreau sings with Emily and Marianne Moore

on a moonlit stairway where the shells and bombs

of the War cannot touch. Join us, join us, they say,

and the soldiers put down their rifles

which curl into mushrooms with spotted colours,

and Alice once again has her feast of wonderland rainbow.