19 Oct 2014


Drawn forth by precession

Emerging from neglected alley

Nights lance held high.

Longhanded he anoints the street, skilled in the art

He brings the light with equinoctial precision,

f├ęted by humming moths,

soul conductor to dying day.

Trailing flambeaux,

colour flourished in bastions of hope

of safe return.

Fragile spark picks out

A path through inextinguishable dark

benison bestowed in thankless measures

Illimitable fears of the cold night held back.

With shadows grace the champion retreats

To his silent tower, awaiting dawns hour

to retrieve the boon

when the sun paints the chimneystacks.

Warm red.