Tim Sinclair

Before you will fly

... Down was a long way, and fall was the new rise. You held me.

That night in the forest, before sailing, before the fires.

You sent long, scorched letters, scented of vinyl

and ammonium nitrate. I struggled to reply.

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Hide and Seek

My skin gasps

at the touch of this forbidden object:

a plain black cloth.

In the mirror, a pale woman winds darkness

round herself like a snake

tempts it to swallow her whole.

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Cameron Fuller

sometimes, meanings

sometimes a poem returns at night

to find my dumb heart thumping a rhythm

as vowels purr in the throat

consonants pulsate on lips

and words float in the warm currents of the mind

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Robert J Bloomfield

traces of 18/10

busy planting seeds like

welcome back to the seventies and

its straight lines the

conversations from the next valley

about goodbye and hello

and other important decisions

Continued