Wake me

in paroxysms of twilight

 

Its soft voice

under the trees

 

Spent beams

quivering in a dim arc

above faded stone

 

Guide me

along moss-bejewelled

thoroughfares 

heraldic frescoes

of silver and blue

 

Let me kneel at the river’s edge

rake my fingers

through incandescent loam

 

Wake me

where threadbare pennons

from gothic bowers dangle

 

Lift me

with mornings untamed requiem

 

Wake me

among the dead lamps reclusive bleeding

 

Wake me in the twilight.

 

 

—  Jason Alan Wilkinson