A Night of Sulphur
 

A night of sulphur
    in the garden
       with winding trees
          exquisite breeze
 

but sulphur ling’ring
    in the air
 

and in the blue heather
  I heard
      a girl’s voice
          clear as the moon
 

follow me down
  she sang, she cried
      follow me down
         down
            down
                to the riverside
 

so I left my bench
   and jumped the trail
      which
          hov’ring on
              that perfect
                           voice
 

made its way
   to southern shores
      the voice called on
          away, anon
 

follow me down
  it sang, it cried
     follow me down
        down
           down
               down to the riverside
 

and at that river
     silent shore
all voices converge
     in quiet waves
             had it been I
                 who’d dreamt
             that voice,
                       the last
                           of fading
                       childhood
                                     days?
 
 

 

 

Appeared in FIRE: No. 18 (Oxford, UK)



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