• Alistair Smith

Blot


Dark gloops of oily black

slide a spatter across the moon

Obscuring the shining sphere

of polished ivory bone

It’s halo a margin smudge

it reaches and seeks its view

struggles to curve and swerve around

to reflect or to rebound

But light is defeated

by its beam’s own directness

Rays too right

to avoid the blot!

Through the boundless space of night

unencumbered by vacuum or vastness

finally thwarted by a mere vapour

ephemeral form of our watery sphere

fluidity freed to inhabit air

wander horizons and ink wash the heavens

and just enough to conquer

cosmic light


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