Ritratto d'un signore nel suo studio

Secrecy ascribed to vellum,
your keys are hanging everywhere,
traced by lizards, you're brooding
over what's faced by words
tabletop-scattered, sacralist,
tutored for an unlit score, serve
honourability on sufferance.
The letters distract you, declare
a supernature of the heart
though you'll take an age to learn
the difference of instinction
less the reason, than completion,
you'll turn with your forefinger,
fly me down. Cold air
afflicts like egrets, bitter, sweet,
I'm plummeting beneath your knees
or looping overtide, eventual,
a ruffled slit of silk, a spinning rag.
Check the paragraph, look back
to the night you felt that lack.

Sarah Law | Mudlark No. 14
Contents | Trasferimento della Casa Santa da Nazareth a Loretto