Something suspect in the light turns

thunderous, and then a wind gets up

among the cherry boughs and blows


a scurry of pink blossom out

across the car-park’s tar to run

in torrents at the pavement’s edge;


and as Blake heard Isaiah say

he saw no God and yet his senses

found the infinite in everything,


so, like a cut-throat razor stropped

along the sky, the lightning speaks,

and thunder breaks its silence over Frome.


Lindsay Clarke
Picture Nick Victor



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