from my poetry blog.
Savage Sky In this savage sky, in this ragged hour, a low, winter sun glazes soft all flesh of inordinate pallor, embarrassed by impotence. Unravelling powder blue ribbons, colouring brittle braids blown among briered mountains of white. Black cattle bellowing in coarse vernacular a dumb language of instinct, lust. And crying like a child, each insipid sow. You can smell the sea, but not see it, cupped in hands of granite, cold, loved. Suffering the separation of centuries, more. ©AndrewJamesMurray