John Clarke

Each step a scandal of recognition
possessing tender hearts like Magnus the Martyr
'We lay waste our powers'
Scouting and scanning the future
while skipping and linking the past.
We pace London through a fog of time
until it becomes a seething ritual
enmeshed with garlands freshly planted
by hands seeking to protect and preserve.
It is a silent fugue of light and shade
a chiaroscuro we stack away in the memory.
There is a clear tension somewhere
between our life now and what must change.
We reach for the defining moment
when times falter.

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