This first pale ribbon

weaves a range of hills –

slowly the morning light


conceives a multitude

of forms –

retrieves a certainty


from the dark night’s womb.


Seized by the silent sun

the skyline seethes –

the darkness winnowed


from interstices of trees.




The sun ascends

to break the bough –

my chosen silver branch


dissolves into

a maze of silhouettes –


the fire

invisibly suspended.



                                Malcolm Evison

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