Mark Bibbins _____ Brightening Elsewhere They’ve hired skywriters to compose clouds in a sky off-color but clear; such clever hats the chimneys wear, so furiously they twirl.                            Make that face again and we’ll perfect the picture. Really. Make that face. Figure and gesture refuse to engage: there’s only so much one can do.               Once I held a couplet close—too close, in fact; it died— this and other minor matters refuse to disappear. An expat I’ve become, except I am still here.