The whole view grows
in winter’s sunlit vinegar –
hauled up by a blue false sky
behind which, like tombstones,
the stars are waiting.
When I met you, I was similar –
nothing to stand in nothing’s way
under my own false future.
Why you wore spring’s patience,
only you remember.
Turning from the brazen scape,
I see the ice in shadows.
Too old now for our old conjecture,
still some of it, like sunlight, lingers –
like frost will, too, in dark spring corners.
Craig Dobson has had poems and short fiction published in Agenda, The London Magazine, Poetry Ireland Review, The Interpreter’s House, Better than Starbucks, Magma, New Welsh Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Lighten Up Online, North, The Rialto, Southword, Stand, Poetry Daily Website, and Neon. He has work forthcoming in THINK, Poetry Salzburg Review, and The Dark Horse. He’s working towards his first collection of poetry. He lives in the UK.
Sparks of Calliope 