Dim stars, scuffs of half-light
like the simmering tab-ends
of ash-fat fags
decomposing in ashtrays.
Soils vibrate with slugs, alive with hunger,
converging on gardens in the depths of dawn,
large soft eyes aglow and fixed
on leaves like compasses.
Owl sorrow pierces the silence
spread like a duvet over roofs and floodlit car-parks.
Moonshine filters in.
The silver gem irradiates.
Slanting streaks are couched
within a bosom of black gas.
Horizon’s diamond,
owl eye.
Insanity’s insignia,
the secret sphere
which gradually comes quartering to life
orb of mountains and canals,
light-dark
ornamental as an asteroid.
You are a cleanly coloured mint
hanging beyond grasp,
a ball of ice,
a sunken cathedral
splintering like memories.