Crows shimmer east to the high solstice, flapping out of the green up into the bright,
Soaring up, up into the light and beside the hedgerow, dance purple poppies
Stretching, searching, sucking light down sun-yellow connectors, hard-wired
to cable green stems earthed to ground.
Bindweed creeps and crawls entwining its very being into the tapestry, innocent white, smiling at the light strangling across borders like the shadow of the Khan dynasty conquering new lands.
Mother slowly uncurls her bended buckled frame, white light tangles with her silver hair and bounces off her gaunt paste-pale, pigeon grey.
She breathes the light of day in shallow puffs, and stares into the light but not enlightened.
The wait is long for the fading light, the comfort blanket sits beneath darkness,
A cwtch with the holy trinity brings the light which can’t be scratched like an irritation,
Her mind runs deeper into the distance, skipping over the setting sun,
Decades jostle jovially, nudging laughter out as a hollow bout of coughs between her ribs,
Playing boxsets before her light is snuffed and in darkness,
turns a kaleidoscope of memories where light burns eternal
But first, she must swallow the enlightenment which is stuck in her throat like a mocking Roman thorn.