Magpieing the colour blue a seam of sky, in the pocket of my too worn jeans, where yellow crabbing days wore through, coins and threads lost like summer (I guess) a horse of cloud and air leapt in a lunge, the trident shape Poseidon’s scowl in wavelets cast against the sleepful gabions ah, futility, Ulysses thought the stained glass, of a martyr’s eye cyclopean in the way it fixed a furied vein, the bolt-tight gun-metal jaw, ricochet and gutter blunt, a crown above the minotaur with blasphemies and buckled wheel, half turning seesaw back in the blind, almost crow-black breakneck intercession
