1

this
this hand this breath
these broken faces
breaking voices
straining to cling you

this shadow on the edge of stories
gasping to greet you

these
poppy-fields wild
spread scarlet in sunlight

hysterical split teeth
mirthlessly kissing
Sickened Sun

I your silvered death's head high
on a shelf stuck

grinning
unseeing

my Centre:

2

I wanted to sing you clearly
Pure
Tears on a page trapped

Make beauty your epitaph

Forgive
My unspeaking

God has touched me

I
A cracked bottle
In the wind's howling

By David Ashford