Image: “Dark Blue” © Graham Bartholomew. Source – CC License.
Author: Marie McMullin
PERVADING
Not even a glimpse; a sight felt.
Tail end of a coat slips through
fingers, gone; invoking
all the befores and afters,
flocking ghosts crowding
present on all sides, leaving
no solid between-times
to stand on, no unflavoured now.
Flickering will o’ the wisps evade
touch, drive mad. Shades taint
the day long after they’ve escaped,
such gentle breezes between yearning hands.
Traces of shadows remain.
Indelible.
Image: “old books” © vandentroost. Source – CC License.
Author: Marie McMullin
INTRATEXTUAL
And why should I not fall
headfirst into words?
Theirs is a spell I seek,
keepers of realms
that stand brighter and taller
than the one my eyes can see.
Through, then, whichever looking glass,
‘Far’ is all I care for. Snow cushions
my fall, and Aslan’s fierce heat
offers the warmth I need, holding fast
to his flaming mane as on and on he runs.
If chilled by the witch’s breath drawing near,
I’ll turn another cover, grasp the Firebolt’s
thrilling handle and go, forever
higher among the clouds. A golden snitch
will crown the flight, delight be found
at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. A curse
snatches away both wand and dream, so with a knife
I’ll tear open worlds – on the run
but not alone, my dear daemon,
faithful friend, truer to me than I –
until unveiled death breaks the bond.
Wounded realms crumble to dust.
I am home-bound; it is time to close.
Hard times for minds
prone to overthinking,
for hearts that haven’t mastered the art
of losing neither memories nor stories.
What remedies for a spirit
scratching itself raw?
– Every word holds a moment of being,
a wave that revives, beaming lighthouse
tearing through fog, a promised rapture.
Who cares if I wake or sleep
– Away, away fair nightingale,
far from this wasteland of hollow men.