Sol Y Sombra
This is a land of metronome duality.
We’re cowed by sun, then huddle in the dark.
Here shrubs and lizards eke, with bleak frugality,
a living that’s both passionless and stark.
But I’m from England. When parched cyclones rake
white dust in sterile spirals, I delight
in half-remembered rainclouds, and I ache
to bathe again in subtle, muted light.
She’s of this place. Her personality
is elemental, primitive, opaque.
At first, this strangeness, far from seeming trite,
is what caused fierce attraction to ignite.
But now I doubt her crude tonality
transcends the cold hypnosis of the snake.
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