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Fata Morgana


Today the sash-cord windows were forced.
The hymen of two decades of thermoclines quivered,
before rupturing within strokes of sunlight.
The fragrance of blooms and other planted histories filtered through clerestory recollections of our brief sharings.
STANZA
‘Mausoleum’ would be overstating this record of your anni mirabiles:
Your celebration of visits to Africa, Asia and Australasia.
Photographs of the Hindu Kush, assegais, and hunting boomerangs each guarded their own territory – just as you had guarded yours.
No pictures drawn by grandchildren here.
STANZA
Captain Webb had lit many a pipe in this room:
The whirlpool mix of Old Holborn and Caruso...
your oiler of memories of Rhodesian spring evenings spent on a veranda shared with past, present, and future dreams.
Dreams of finding life’s Holy Grail as the Fates applauded.
STANZA
Flown home in cocoanut timber to ‘rest’ beneath ancient oak.
You were never at rest. Possibly the nearest thing to peace is what you felt here – in this room and your gardens.
As I invade your space, and soak in your history,
I wonder if  this is the closest I have stood to the tantalus of your soul?

**  **  **

c. Ivan Sanders, 2025
 
STANZA
 
Footnotes:
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BRITISHIvan Sanders

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