Posts Tagged ‘the liminal’


This dream we cling to
As if it were the only dream.
This wind, these hills,
This heart so tattered,
So threadbare.
Scoured even,
Stretched thin,
Worn down.
A whisper in the rain.
A word forming in the pines.
Winter shows the bones
Of what is, of what
Will remain,
Of what the old songs sung.
This has been your life
Down to this frozen moment,
This darkening path,
Distant laughter,
Sparks spinning
From the bobbing torches.
Shall we go on?


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Beneath those clouds, that dark and glowering sky,
Lie and roll the high hills of home.

Beneath the bracken brown and sedge-sharp hills,
The grey and time-cracked waiting rocks.

Beneath the rocks the slumbered weight, the beds of coal and iron.
The slow seep, the echoed drip that always, always tastes of blood.

Beneath that blood, a fierce and endless joy and sorrow:
Souls and stars, swaying each along their own and glimmered paths.

Beyond the paths, a singing ark of life,
A soaring choir, a cast bell, a cave, a resolute remembering.

There, are turbulent silken seas, all the bones ground down to salt,
Worms turned eloquent: a sudden, unexpected glory.

I dream the drovers turn towards home, tallies marked,
Murmuring their loves, long and low.

Their secret green and hollow ways
Singing light and fireside.

Hard is any parting in winter.

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