Bent double I scrape barrels of bones clean,
Make sky's arrow of skull.
I turn mountain-tops off, shade the waves
Until you see heartbreaks of moth,
Glow worms gone mad,
Hear the heartbeat Dark Age for trees
The light leaving plugholes
Like I walked right into the shadow
Of world and stuck
In a few weeks I've been wittled like new wood
I've been a line of milk. Frost and thunder.
Bloodmoon and all the others,
The smooth jawbones of sky
The coathanger holding the horizon high above the waterline.
I remember being whole
I disappear so quickly though.
Halving, quartering, digesting...
In between clouds miles of rotten flesh
Deadwood stock-piled in bin bags
From my shrink of moonbed, backwards footsteps
Woman to child. Thorn then skyline,
Carved right down to the last thread of
Ancient bark, my apple core of spine
That's always there
Forever's lighthouse of mud,
Forever reducing, getting rid of, plucking
Beams until the chicken nothing
Of black with night's fingers and thumbs
I hoard skeletons in my south
Until the time comes to build myself
Back to full moon, food for wolves
A mouth full of teeth, moon masterpiece
The shoulders that hold up the dark
Harriet Moore has been published by Magma and Pomegranate and recorded for PoetCasting. She is about to graduate from UCL with a degree in English Literature.