ALL HALLOWS
All Hallows light, brittle between highest, south clouds,
feels essence most when shell becomes fractured:
an essence which seems sucked in, seems blown out –
beyond any orbit.
Indoors – eyes clasp the clover-pink vaporiser;
in the shade, heart-shaped holes in its sides
provide lights for giants – patterns for the plain wall:
behind the scalloped circle of the main window,
candleflame constantly wavers …
Copyright © JENNY JOHNSON