Sunday 17 June 2012

Sunday Poem


Last night, for the first time, I went down the well
my father went down with me.
It plunged deeper than the back of the little skull
whose edge lay page-thin on the while pillow
and darker than the earth's dusk seeping in
to blot the secret passwords I spoke.

"Hello," I tested with each downladdering breath,
the letters pattering like rain in the murk
and echoing off the cavernous stone. A blink,
a butterfly's tentative settle, and the slight
way back had briefly closed.

Another blink, and I was left
with the aftersound of uttered entrance,
my eyes guttering, my arms loose as rope.

With an inward cry I could not help
I watched darkness flood the praying-book.

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