thira


a sunset of molten metal
the island is deep in a vast smouldering hole
toasted earth & bony lava
riddlings at the bottom of the oven.
the sliced cliffs ring the ironed sea,
the sea surrounds the island ring
& at the centre of this scorched circle
a volcano's snout nuzzles brazen sky

here we sit at the edge of eruption
on the rim of land
awaiting a tremor to remind us
why we are & who,
or move in tangled ways that cling
above the abrupt drop to
the waters' eye, its steaming pupil.

it had been so easy to forget
(walking the streets on the backward slope
among bright energy & dark wine,
moving voices, creeping wind,
desperate tourists & tired donkeys)
to forget the toiling cliff the past fell into
the few yards grip of stone that holds the present