Banyan

for Jane Draycott As winter secrets melt with the purple sun, what is revealed is electric — notes tune unknown scales, syntax alters tongues, terracotta melts white, banyan ribbons into armatures as branch-roots twist, meeting soil in a circle. Circuits glazed under cloth carry alphabets for a calligrapher’s nib italicised in invisible ink, letters never posted, cartographer’s map, uncharted — as phrases fold so do veils.