From one angle
it looked
like the head
of a man.

I climbed up.
The grit slashed
the pale skin
on my knuckles.

I held on-
to the nose-bridge,
pressed down
onto the cheekbone,

rested my hands
on the forehead,
looked at the sky
reflected in the rain-

-pool worn
into the rough pate
of the stone.
I rested there,

a temporary statue,
relishing the touch
of a dark moon,
newly inhabited.



Dominic Rivron





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2 Responses to Bridestone

    1. Thanks Dominic, it’s a lovely poem ( and image). Glad you won the prize! I remember the IT, still have a copy of an issue somewhere.

      Comment by Natalie on 14 October, 2023 at 5:17 pm
    2. Ace!

      Comment by john soltys on 15 March, 2024 at 9:55 pm

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