- March
This eclipse, I remembered later, reminded me that night
of a jackal I watched skulking at the roadside late evening
in Diu. It fell into my frame with its stiff straight legs and
blurred fur, whispering into a hedgerow. In another place,
on another day, reedbeds played with another light; each
reed bent and bright pulled down Spring sunshine. Made
some trickling of shadows stutter like pale lace in the weft
with straws cross-hatching. There was a haze on the estuary;
no discernible meeting of water and sky, the whole maze
of seascape had become endless. And fine threads of silver
chalked flat lines that the sun caught, lifted them clear from
the mud flats and salt marsh, harsh spears suspended then
laid on their sides. When the moon passed away from the
sun the blackbird in the oak tree lost its darkness; the sun
became what it should be: buttery, freed from the cloak.
John Gimblett lives in Wales, UK, and is primarily a poet and novelist whose work has been published widely. He has read at the Hay Festival (‘The Woodstock of the mind’ – Bill Clinton) and elsewhere. His novels are crime/thrillers set mainly in my home city. #NewportNoir @johngimblett
Amethyst Review 