Poetry

Flesh as felt, alive

Standing in the space of what has gone before,
The shadows of history/time/memory
Flit across the surface of the brain
Stirring our inner life
Flesh as felt, alive
The skin stirs into memory and the heart is lifted up
By the workings of reverse time.
There is nothing except our stock of dreams
And all around the black velvet edge
A baseless silent terror of unknowing
Enough to stop that thought
And wish for daylight and clarity
Foretell the fall that finds us
Tumbling through the thickened air
Clutching at nothing but breath
That clamour is the heart beating
And flicker, eyes moving, unseeing.

John Charles William Morris
30th October 2014