I exalt the dimming sun; it draws a cross across
my vision like a cartoon star of Bethlehem.
In school, we're defining numinous.
I want to write cathedral-sick,
star-sick, field-sick. Divine gift of the sublime;
how blue this sky that entombs me.
Red kites circling like red kites circling
prey. A halved blood-orange
sinks its juice into the horizon,
and I'm popping Vitamin C and bubblewrap.
We're not taught in driving lessons how
parked cars glitter from afar. We're not taught
the view from the climb, the clouds that swirl.
I try to find
what makes me stitch haiku like countryside,
and it's the burn of my legs, the wind in my hair,
pale fields cut back to stubble, to mother-of-pearl.
YOU ARE READING
Fields of Asphodel
PoetryA poetry collection inspired by mythology, nature, and poetry itself. The style will be a bit different to what I wrote for Clockwork Lives, but I feel personally that it is an improvement. :)
