Cuando-Cubango

1         Moths, if they dream dusk,         sport esurient hip-flasks on their wings -         gangster rum-runners better to sully dark,         traverse caravans of colour         amid silk-routes         to dazzle Prester John,         cork unscrew the unicorn horn askew.         2         Compte de la Mothe         escadrilles/flotillas         D'Entrecasteaux         with Bougainville discovering         well, Bougainvillaea and I,         latter day la Perouse,         cunningly amuck on coral         adoration and wine,         (red as scarlet leaves)         chenille, frangipanni and the Marquis house colours         of the flame-bitten tropics.         3         Let me scandalize why.         Watch the sea churn         to white bubbles then coat         your nostril with brine         to run a finger         down brown skin passing         for the Bronze Age.         4         Notice the invention of sun,         a cloak suspended         in a canopy-canoe profusion         (left over from the first dawn,)         oasis of calm,         patter of motes and beams.         Garden of Shalimar.         5         My sentiments exactly.