march relentless
rain rain not in Spain and our house a boat cast in mould drifting across these depths of darkest ash until at last, as of today the air has turned Atlantic for good we’re subaquatic now: you and I adrift in our fog-coloured motorcar cautiously pushing the headlights ahead in a yellow bubble twenty feet across, the world a mystery globe of assumed wood sorrel and olive groves. Platero: and us?