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Friday, 18 July 2014

Christine Murray


gold-bodied a beetle dives

into muck and dirt a silica
of glitter on his porch,

his wing.
there is no evidence of his home now
it is vanished,

small soil tabernacle
he carried in the sun.


this is the point where colour comes in

a slap of blue/ the wooden baker's palette
hits glittering concrete

city of silica, its bedrock trembles a bit

glossy/ the blackbird’s sunbath/his beak
goldened almost/yellow


  the crystal greys are almost invisible
they litter the paths where colour is

a blue blue bird is stone dead shocked
nesting season is vicious/ wind lifts

the blue.

wind minutely investigates the small
corpse and moves on

the blue against the grey
the crystal beneath

not the sun/not the moon exposes
the glittering


the nest

not met

unreached :

a mess

of opalesescent white
dark blood /in a forest of shell

reds mostly:

a jewel
old oxblood lid

the hem of a

skirt needing

a papered jar

with needles in,
some coins.

from 'the silences' (series)

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