Words under Pressure #7

The Fountains of Salou

Shooting crystal reaches for the sun,
Seeming-solid pillars, with a fine down
Of spray to leeward, diamond dust
Blown off the sea to powder the land.

In ordered rows they march,
Rank on rank between the palms.
Tamed water sheltering the thirsty land
From the wild, slack, lively ocean.

Around the tanks, stones transmute,
Gleaming with fresh, glittering colour.
Drifted sand becomes cool and firm,
Sun heated stone is pleasant under foot.

Against the summer’s cerulean
The columns are stark white, dense
Against palest winter blue
Lit by low sun, prisms spring to life.


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