Your shadow at morning
Sunsets, shadows, finches,
pylons, perceived blots, scars.
Old; older than my brother,
photographed, floodlit, mourned.
Finch pink contrast to Sabrina’s silt,
sun catchers signalling home; or
dark brood of hill hiders,
sky belchers, giants —
hot on the trail of smelting, of weld,
rebranding our pastoral past.
Leave us deer, leave us grass, leave us sun –
leave us swathe after swathe of homogenous homes,
sulphur masked stars.
Some tell me it’s better; still
my eyes fixate on that gap.
Kathryn Anna Marshall
Kathryn thanks Jo Clarke and Angie Silkstone of Both in Stitches for the image (below) and inspiration.