Archive > Vol. X no. Z

Pippa Little

The Horn Window

St. Bartholomew’s

Cold as a thumbnail sky-bruised brimstone’s wing, eggshell and stillborn skull-furl lingerings of smoke, a spell whispered, smudged, tannic water marks, a tidal retreat, layers revealed and left behind, marshland, badland — I kneel where the lepers knelt at your hungry and thirsting surface smeary high cirrus of the mind’s eye swirl of grease with holy breath and a life where we shall be loved again bone meets bone and cools deep inside the whale I say my name