Places
Sunday – the empty square the locked bar three fishing boats tethered at the pier a portacabin bank open once a week an empty road between level barley-fields fulmar on its nest in the ruins of a church a meadow of yellow iris where sheep and gravestones sleep shimmer...
Places
the passage is three feet high on your knees in the seething dark you enter in the corbelled chamber’s space you uncoil and stand earthfast at the centre silence hisses in your ears on an inch of paper you write the three runes of your name, bind it with hair and hide...
Recent Comments