In Passing

I slept into winter
lights were filling the few unlocked casements
A single wraith beckoned from a cemetery gate
I ran, across fields.

Each blade of grass, green lit, was singing
its thin song to me – a corresponding choir
And as I ran I left glowing sound prints
which attracted insects.

All of whom I recognised
I grinned as a moth butted the cedars, fluttering.
And there above! All the world’s saints
– awareness comes in various forms.

They were too numerous to count
so I scattered them
Simply by stamping my foot . . .
Satan’s daughter, stayed.

The ultimate making the irrelevant matter
– all blessings to her
Then in a melting turn she sped
down the only path, dark.

Lost amongst the trees and brambles
I crawled and groped behind
I reached out and slashed my hand
I reached out and slashed my hand
I reached out and slashed my hand
I reached out . . .



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