Anne Walsh / Poetry


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 fish star, worming glow, spelunker of light no                                                                                                                                                             one imagined

                                                                                   could survive such pressure
© Anne Walsh


Ariadne – A painting by Sir William Russell Flint

2 thoughts on “Intact

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