by KELLIE ASMUSSEN
– An extract from a four-part piece
II
Deep gutters adjoin cobbled lanes
and hot chocolate is sipped while
drizzling rain changes to snow.
Like magnets we congregate – no church required –
and wings, then concealed,
now appear in memory.
A like-minded coven,
we hover around pilot lights,
circling like penguins packed on ice.
We desperately gossip
stimulated by heat and chocolate,
trying to dismiss our inevitable dissolution.
The small windows
and high ceilings of the miner’s cottage
were not strong enough to contain flight.
III
Sea mist hovers over damp sand
while drinks are guzzled
within smoke filled pubs.
Balls clash over the green
and victorious cheers claim the glory
while white light dazzles the brow.
Bare feet, fluttering over shore line,
reveal a phosphorescent speckle
all from wings that once hovered above.
Electric charged communes embrace
the scent of earthy crust
dancing amongst the rhythmic dust.
Mortal obligations careened
Nature’s own sabbatical –
all flocked at the call …