Suppose these lines were gentle needles
that slip into your head and gingerly finger your strongboxed secrets.
He weighs his spark against a vast expanse of mind, its handsome ghost-cosmos.
You know you’re not the first to see him dive, or to cast around glances
that hang like thin shadows, outlast the homely dim, and have him away.
He weighs his secrets against some cast of shadows, thins like a ghost,
glances into that vast expanse. Head out to him. You’ve a mind to see him home.
The hived-away cosmos hangs dimly, and suppose these lines were gentle fingers
that slip around your hand and gingerly needle your strongboxed spark.
Know you’re not the first or last.
JON STONE is a writer and editor who specialises in hybrid forms, sequences and collaborations, a “poet of fantastic inversions” (Poetry London). He won an Eric Gregory Award in 2012 and the Poetry London prize in 2014 and 2016.