Nephilim – a poem by Louise Mather

Nephilim


A calyx of home-spun lavender,
a sacred rose wrested
of its thorns;
in their palms they sat
by the willow tree - until
the world ended.

Beneath secrets and bones,
a delicate creature
born or ripped
with spiralling time.
Hair not skin or a tail
of a beast or

a Nephilim
from the faded cascade;
in that other reality
by the floating water stream under;
the sun years away –
twined up with gold.

Louise Mather is a writer from Northern England and founding editor of Acropolis Journal. Her work is published or forthcoming in magazines such as Fly on the Wall Press, Crow & Cross Keys, Nymphs, Streetcake Magazine, Feral and Dust Poetry Magazine. She writes about endometriosis, fatigue and mental health. Twitter @lm2020uk