from Petrol, Cyan, Electric

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.