THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2011

Caroline Ashley

THE GEOLOGIST’S WIDOW

Each bone-faced moon,
Stalactites grow tear by tear
in my heart’s four caves.

In waking dream I wear your fossil
ring, borrow your smile,
slip my feet in the husk of your boots
and stride out,

mind tight as an ammonite.
In the leather-drown of your cape
I am your hammer and lens
on a scree-cloaked mountain,

I keep my stride and cannot stop;
I know your gem, closed in my hand
has breath – a living citrine
with a hint of sun’s trespass.

Still I cannot stop,
though my heels are bleeding.


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