Wind Farm Poem by Leon Moon

anticipates immediacy of continuance…
glitters in utero dice throw countenance…
unfurls dishevelling esoteric underworld…
foreign to the eternity it deposits
obscuring gods to name, desert faucets
boil rain and rain unto the word.

eulogising the splitting of an interval and
the rejoice separation must bare land
sailors are disciples, know theirselves slave
sincere horizon of mirage
immune to orbit, still, the centre image
and boot to grave, triumph of the wave.

no just punishment for change!
the masquerades only rearrange
sieve vestiges, seekers deliverance
and the baptisms ensure alienation
intemperate by condition, sacred desolation
of the soul and sole acceptance.

it must, it must, like a lighthouse seize
air, isolation imitates air, air we grieve
ugly as honesty, the ineffective brave
conquers the mind it regenerates —
its old steel root, boot the sky chases
power to man and triumph of the wave.