Issue EightIssue Eight PoetryPoetry

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By Anne Walsh


Visible in the wild wreck I am is the empire I was.

My ruin is the most beautiful architecture.

Wreckage has made me dervish, an astonishing ravaged split log angel.

In the brown of my eyes pulled up, the Spanish doubloons

of the autumn squash yellow of debris,

the shock of stained glass intact after blitzkrieg.

Through my paper thin lids the skein of letting go, the scan of invisible things.

In Hadopelagic caves I’m the monk fish with snow-globe eyes,

illuminator of trenches,

spelunker of light no one imagined

could survive such pressure.


An earlier of this poem was previously published in Verity La . It has also been published in Anne Walsh’s poetry collection, Intact (Flying Island Books 2017):, and in HUSK 5 (Blank Rune Press 2018).