All your captures are in

All your captures are in
your palms – moth-ish –
out at night – widening
in your hand [spread in
wing-readiness]/ Coach
trips [one-baggedness]
call to my old self – as a
pilgrim – Orwell & I will
ride to Tarragona – with
hold-all [old novels] – &
we will see Catalonia in
light [& not a bookshop
of newly-set lies]/ Slept
Europe can settle again