Les Grandes Lignes

By: Roger Hansford

 

Pumping South

on polished iron,

close to flight;

I render as a Monet

this blur of the insane flat.

 

Touchdown releases

my blood’s sap.

Cross-channel branches

achieve generational

nexus.

 

I wake

in a seaside apartment,

phrases prospering in my head

like connexions,

and I don’t translate.