Apparizione dell'angelo a Zaccaria nel Tempio

Effortless decampment, his wand
intensifying pastures, woollen, dyed
through regal armature, the sullen
humidity of recital catching here.
The centenarians monitor your grin
as you sidle upways, moshing
sans alacrity, their worry-beads
offside; such firmness of thorax,
a density of Vinciesque cartooning
over the riven rock, frieze
and subtle luminosity of hours—
the ludicrous perspective, petalled
in selection after cagey bars.
He's ballading the gospel, she
native to his fugal directive,
loosens all sore cuffs. To ask
what happens in the evening
of a scheming hermeticist, redux.
People passing, ionising acres,
for the catalytic storymakers.

Sarah Law | Mudlark No. 14
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