on an ordinary night it will happen:
the thud of a culmination
from the moon-silvered grasses
followed only by hours and years of
silence.
rapture stretches the length of sound
offering a sacrament to the sky’s alter,
a pillar of mist eroding the landscape-

it will arise with becoming a time
capsule, never aged beyond impulsion
as years are cemented.

the deepest places lie open now;

a long dark: staggering off across
a space where the hills level, this is

an ache that will claw at the mind
and strike down the source of any
sanctuary

the heightened mound, a turret
entrenched further in the crossroad
of waking

as all longing pierces
consciousness,

leaping from this world to the next.

from Rain Season.

***

Note: ‘Becoming a Time Capsule’ borrows a line form Harry Fainlight’s poem ‘Wolstonbury’.

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