Poem inspired by Ronda

I am not a naturalist
have never written about plants or flowers
or how the sun looks o’er barley
I am angles and concrete, uncalculated space and infinity

I write of men made of plastic and eggplant
caffeine addiction
and how the perfect pair of shoes
is as gorgeous as a sunset

One foot perched over a 100m gorge
majestic southern raptors
fall from the sky, like dive bombers
coal black wings pressed against sleek bodies

Like summer kites
they let themselves float
feathers swaying
light as paper bags

Imperial eagle
Peregrine falcon
Griffon vulture
I whisper their names to forget my vertigo

A flood of black bodies
dipping and soaring
juxtaposed against
the dying light

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