Black ink and sunbeams poetry

On hand and knee

sun bleached grass gives way

alongside a thistle,

westward, weary, draught-touched

envy roots like

dust in my eyes,

have you ever traced the Sumerian Circle

with a pen, or captured the timbering echo

of Babylon in a brushstroke?

Now, once again,

this ink-stained, once defiant heart

sheds it’s skin,

transfixed amidst the

bracken-fields