(After Tristan and Iseult)
The darkness opened
And small iron filings poured to the granite floor
among the blood. His cries scraped through the air
shattered marks in the slate cliffs
later mistaken for runes
cold in the rock.
The sea watched, and felt nothing.
Greening waves in the depths
The great stone-work shifting of leviathans
moved in her like neurons, twisting
up into a bundle of gravity –
moon had left long ago, the sea
was flat and had no hopes or goals.
rust-mother looked on his face
and its platings, hammered, forged in the womb-forge
and smiled and tears broke on her lids
as waves crashed on dark cliffs
and she passed into darkness as through
a sharp internal pain draining presence
or walking into a sun-warmed bedroom –
rust was left in the cold-cornish air
a patina shining on his iron body
began to write with the oxygen of the air
the lay of his life – already peeling
his eyes were squeaking
as he blinked and squinted.
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