Vast

You could take Brazil in an afternoon, sure.
Knock yerself out, call me when yr done, etc.

Consider that continent's arc: it's gesturing 
across the Atlantic, towards Ghana, or was it 

Côte d'Ivoire, or both? — you decide, call me 
when it's done. Let us speak of it forever, or

more. Speak of vast hillsides slipping into a 
river, the minute sunsets, postcards, babies, 

paperbacks: everything at once, yet nothing at 
all to remember or recall, situated as you are 

inside a hand-drawn map of Minas Gerais, 
weeping over Nascimento's 'Os Povos'. Your ... 

move, perhaps? Vast as a view across an ocean, 
invisible strings, dotted lines stretched out: 

sewing the imaginary gap shut. Stick figures 
tumble overboard; waves do nothing but leer,

their foamy peaks a bit like tankards raised 
in empty bars (by persons 'sketchy', you add, 

but then why bother? The effect has already 
been achieved, its correspondances noted. AO.