[I don't think i hav e posted this before; but my apologies if I have:
it's not my fault, it's my hand-writing]
From eastward, on Godrevy Island, sun’s reflected,
narrowly intensified. Glass perhaps.
What might be a fighter plane
moves west without wobble or sound.
To the north, dark mountains.
To the very near south, a man in shorts
puffing a cheroot with much aggression.
The harbour and its clutter has not altered.
Blocky. Angular. Well-lit dullness.
Not since yesterday.
Workmen drop sheet metal.
The aircraft has disappeared.
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