Moonshade by Epsilon

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The growl of an opening,

in comes a heady wash

of purple sand under soles,

sifting songs of sailing sibilance,

pulling us up from under

towards the voice free above,

beyond bubbleburst bone brine'd bracken

conjured mage un-congener'd drums work

the delivery of diaphane depth

due and undimmed and come

to the heavy light midhovering

behind the backwards voice calling

in tongues taught to drifters

come again to call us

away.


- words by Kwasu Tembo
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