The sweetness is past.
Life, no more the mask of anonymity brings
Subtle din, crushing silence a subterfuge
That the sky itself beneath would buckle.
Dimensions still full
The last blank bulk of fluid expression
Sifts the nevermore.
Embedded is the final cast of death
No longer everlong, no longer the struggle
of frailty when powers divide.
Still dust, surely gives weight beyond humanity
On dry and useless iris settle, turn glaze to mould. Suspended
Infinity, rhythmic shadow dance
Respire with kinds of ignorance
The sweetness still is past.
FIRE 24, p 109; Zoe Froggatt