The day before the sun came,
I made a fresh breath of knowing.
The cooled fiery jewels of a time long lost,
facing the odds against us and arising reborn triumphant.
A feather trickles silently amongst forevers,
a squark a chime and yawp in the bellows before us.
Remnants reassembled in beatific heart-racing timelessness,
the drip drip drop along the hardened soft branchy lofts.
Slowly beckoning up the bright timid new day,
and conducting of the stars to calm their charges.
A damp heavy cloak thrown over my shoulders,
leads me back to the camp of my own kind.
Lend me a single hand or mouthful,
before morning’s jaws release me.
And let the shadowy sorrow of night,
gently fall and be gone.
Greg Fiddament
Illustration Nick Victor