the night-tripper ritual
Another sun sinks, carving light into the hillside as we wait. The night-tripper is close. Running his hand across the face of a grassy knoll. Teasing out music which floats on fast-chilling air.
Will he come?
Strange shadows emerge from priapic stones sunk ready into the hill plateau. They wait too for the night-tripper as one last cloud hovers. Lone star set into stone.
A seed-head spumes, one last rail against the dying sun.
Is he here yet?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please do add your comments here. It's always great to hear from readers!