ISSN 1758-6488
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Three poems Poetry |
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Magic Lantern
A swallow of the dead, a bat got in
and beat on the bedroom wall. One winter
a comet, like an oldstyle, opened-out
girl’s hairgrip, was framed for nights. But stranger
than any portent, and more regular,
as they walked up the back path from milking,
the bucket’s glint cast a bent line of light
that moved along the wall, beginning at
the top right-hand corner, and panning southwards,
every blessed sunlit summer’s morning.
