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…