Jane Gibian

slow-moving eye

the curved range opens around a vast basin,    
a long breath
                    held by its roughened edges

the deceptive drabness
                                   of uninterrupted landscape
trains the eye to subtlety,
to home in
on discreet flashes of colour:
                                            tiny roseate florets
flat against the ground,

a lone beetle                        
                      wandering onto a walking track

your steps descending
                                 the rocky path
make clipped echoes
before she sees you

scrambling ant-like in the distance       
down an eroded
                           mountain peak

at night they return with a head-lamp:
hundreds of jewelled spider eyes
                                                 glint from the darkness
evading discovery
                            with each step
in a weathered terrain
that returns their gaze

as you photograph her boots
                                          coated in burnt orange
she unconsciously adjusts
the expression
                       on her face

briefly she sees with the eye of a raptor
                                                          the robber;
a slow-moving eye
                          that glides overhead:
then thrown back firmly
with the hot earth
                             lean and sharp-limbed
amongst attenuated foliage