long knives


olive oil rusts my white bone in cold winter sun

like a matchbox spark on a night without moonlight

northern presence shows in romantic form

as crickets sing a background disharmony

waiting, waiting, for the start off

all in focus and now alight

action ready, still yet alone

on fire, on step, on key

flare in the sky says go

again in fray

alive today:


the end



About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
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