Jason Alan Wilkinson

The Moon-Riven Twilight

Is a crystal
feathering here
moth-burrowed vellums
gather insouciantly
down its long corridor

Piano music and wet skin
frame cavernous dreams
rendered cataracts

Glass blossoms hewn without ceremony

Colour unmade,
stippled from apprehension
from lasciviousness
darning a subaqueous ladder of hues
,flashes transcendentally

Imagined ‘scapes form vagrant kingdoms
where stile and crooked bough
along sinuous tracts
linger inchoate
charming the eye

Discarding tarragon cellophane
chrysanthemum beads
for loose chimes
their scented aria
through exiguous fronds of breath
lovers throb in timbreless delirium

A pale offering exhumes the dusky path beyond
scabrous lots disembodied

The night is a phoenix
pruning the billows of Time
caught between meadows
lighted by gems.

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