I’m currently trying to write a poem to go with this wonderful picture (the Magic Earth):
It’s proving trickier than I thought, but this is my first coherent attempt. It ended up getting a bit more meta than I was expecting (-:


On a gale-blasted hilltop in the primal night
that might be the top of the world
a girl and the fire have been dancing forever
casting together endless embers into the sky
giving perfect birth to fireflies
they think they are alone

but the shadows have betrayed them
made themselves into a place of hiding
guiding the eyes of a man towards the light
towards the white of the young woman’s skin
with a twig-snap step from outside the circle he enters in
and wide eyes meet

we’ve been told in tales there’s only one way this can go
fire glowing brightly, her safe and warm, him dressed in
a different skin, hounds baying behind
or – rewind – in the normal way
far away from here, she lost or dead or happily his
him growing old, the white dress burned or forgotten

these are strange values to live and die by
but so many myths and summer blockbuster films
surely can’t be wrong


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