Beneath your hands Limewood is as malleable as butter.
The twists and turns of drapery folds carve arabesques
on the air. You discover so much beauty in wood and yet
your world is a sober affair. Smiles are not an option
among your cast of saints, whose faces reveal past and
future sorrows no books can explain, no words contain.
Colin Pink has two collections of poetry: Acrobats of Sound and The Ventriloquist Dummy’s Lament. New poems are forthcoming in South Bank Poetry, Magma and Under the Radar magazines.
The Ekphrastic Review
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