GETTING TO MOSCOW

Bowling Alley to Belorusskaya

is more miles than I care to imagine.

The came from and the going to

spin me between them like a coloured disc

and my both ways perspective

makes each as real

in the thin evolving present.

The night sleeper has rattled me

from grainy sputnik days

towards a hi def hubble cosmos.

Behind me brown manganese

smiles to vanishing points.

Ahead lies Moscow and all it has meant.

Back when, huge balls rumble unseen

Small hands struggle, slowly taking aim.

Learning how to cause effect.