Lynne Wycherley
Sea-walls
Tonight: a night so clear
a blue frost burns the air.
It strips the stars naked,
its silence scours the hills
dissolves the sea-walls
we build round mystery, eggshells
of concrete and tempered steel,
the thimbles we hide in.
Now I too close curtains,
lock starlight in glass,
take shelter in ego’s small drop,
tabletop certainties
a lamp’s yellow glade
but even here, splitting
its star in a three-inch pot
a primrose mouths immensities.
Page(s) 73
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