The sky is ever deliquescent

moulting ephemeral

sanguine pins

a juggernaut dancing gloveless

in the architecture

beyond torpid hostelries

words unravel characters

fall and blackened men

construct gauzy daydreams 

neath a long, silent carapace

:spawning dark agents

 

Meadows basque

purblind and bliss-weary

travellers on the damp leaves

restored by Summer’s fawning bouquet

sprawl among those unabbreviated pastures

to catch the whim of its lingering breath

 

Along the floss windows blush

their scarlet panes like burnished flowers

 

Eyes maladjusted to Dawn

her pale torch crowning the heavens

flutter before a cascade of sharpening light

 

Where druids gleaned laconic wisdom

through a dusky flame

and the now derelict

moss-covered spires

with footsteps rang

 

Where voices trapped amid fluted yarn

spun hircine dreams

a cobbled web now

reaches to the sea..

 

—  Jason Alan Wilkinson