Kate Bolton Bonnici //
Of what can be felt: how the heart dwells At earth’s door, which is the gate of light Lowering leafèd veils in sequence. Slight Scent traces the familiar and the spell- Bound. What’s not dreamed? A hart swells Near to bursting at dusk’s blood birth: bright Sidereal dust, ventricle touched, twice-sight Sighted-in. Telescopes or rifle scopes fell The sublunar in the woods where nothing’s still. Still, the pines glow full with all possible Answers to what you do not know to ask, You who know eye and bearing and will. When day falls some roads come uncrossable. Respite is a mask. Quiet. This quiet task.