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The volts in the flex, oh mystère, fluoresce
as I step back, on the watch for what lies
behind the frames stacked upright at the far end
of the revamped coop, borne as a glazier
might stretch out his arms to lug one unwieldy glass
pane at a time, 150cm x 150cm,
not exactly your own beanpole height, but
close enough. Leaning further back, you pivot
the canvas round for closer inspection

where you’ve given your brush leave
to roam in thin, indeterminate strokes along
the fluted columns surging up in recessed
spiral symmetry – memory’s slit, salamander eyes,
casting sidelong glances under
the porticos, flicker at the show-through
...