Losing Neruda on Flight 621

nimbus images pester
the periphery of a vision trained
to a faraway horizon
where gods intervene on God’s
intervention:

a questioned presence
serves an alibi’d past.

my cold-tortured ears
freeze

toward an abstract duplicate of my land
as i slowly lose my prose to dreamy skies
forsaken to ill-wills of angels of books
and soldiers of fortune.