On Sunday,before Mum’s cancer was confirmedwinter yawned a warm shiverand wee white buds—still with a boreal bite—popped from dark-bark spindles, yet to leaf,phosphorescent against blue-black hueslike earth stars discarded from the sky. I nipped outside and snipped thebaby branches from the main trunk,rehoming them indoors, redressingthe air with decaying base notes,topped with aContinue reading “Blackthorn”
Below rugged earth by Fairy Hill,
my roots are entangled in bones
relieved of soft flesh
Stars fall over Drumochter pass,
smudged grey as always, barren, desolate,
a world dropped dead into Dante’s Ninth.