Losna (Winter)
From beside a sun-
paled bridge – enamel
petals falling, brickle
and bleached – I watch
the mounting satellite –
wan-creeping
above bitter horizon –
over looking-glass
spatters of rheumy
phosphorescence.
Numb and buoyant
in brittle air
I place a foot on
the echo-sheen lake
and walk to meet
the moon.
Recent Comments
| Rockall Mugs | Will… on It’s Pissing Down On… | |
| Peak 3 (Stillborn) |… on Alderley Edge | |
 | erroneouschoices on Brittle (for Greg) |
 | hana on Succotash |
 | Will on Nairn |
Will Vigar 
Recent Comments