St Tredwell Into your keeping take these curved forms one dying the other weary. Let me ride the miniature sledge on runners of horn. I pay with my pin of bone, its human face. When she is ripe cut round the moon. For her and for you I have gathered the remains of a chapel. The path there awkward, a stone trail edged with star grass. Assist me to reach through silence, each word the weight of a goldcrest. I have worked without speaking. I have worked every day. Mostly I have been standing in one place. Hard to believe the shimmer isn’t you
Lydia Harris lives in the Orkney island of Westray. She held a Scottish Book Trust New Writer’s Award in 2017. Her fourth pamphlet A Small Space is due from Paper Swans this year. Her first full collection, Objects for Private Devotion is due from Pindrop Press in 2022.
Amethyst Review 