Clifftop, Birling Gap
The planet tilts on an axis
too true to see
as we stand, angled
together in an attitude
of upturned prayer. There
is something necessary
in the touch of your hand –
the dream of cellular dust, debris.
Elsewhere, stars collapse
and flare, burn into black holes.
Published by Smith Doorstop, available from the Poetry Business.
Kim Lasky 