Thursday, November 1, 2018




Cut glass on flesh.

Claws extended,


mean, pouncing

with dagger intent.

Ears folded, and then

the sweet distance

from leg to shoulder, tiny muscles

stretched, releasing a miracle purr.

Nose, nuzzling my hair

licking with love every

red knotted strand.

Head, light as a penny, nods,

slips away into sleep,



We cannot

hang in the grip of this cloud

for long. The waste

of bad habits, concealing

kindness with a show

of wit. Sarcasm a fatal

as a cut throat or plain as

a child’s cry.

Hearts stuffed with

hollow match-stick crimes.

Counter clockwise the sun spine. The moon

climbs the back of an angel, breaks

her thin spine.

You look the other way, look for a hero

rising from your hands, for a rainbow

in my flooded eyes.

It cannot be done. We cannot be more

than mortal.


In the dawn’s light clearing, I sweep

the glacier clouds


my arms to your flesh, awakened from dream.

Plunging into ethereal

substance, head pressurized with fatigue,

your body pulled close to mine, and legs

criss-crossed like swords laid down –

I glance up

through our window, then down

to watch you roll over:

naturally revealed.


Little fly

are you lonely

like I?

Do you pray for

your day to come soon

or dream of the sun

on a cold afternoon?

Little fly

are you lonely

like I?

Come then,

let me kiss you.


Remove the spies

from my grief.

I cannot defend myself

with such pale armour.

I cannot tell you it will be eternal,

this day in which I burn for your soft mouth.

I cannot say the door it there,

it is always there.

I drown kisses on your neck.

I reach that wave of endless choice,

returning from episode to episode

of our unforgettable unions. And then

the stars seem to stumble around

the globe, tripping for no reason

into grave oblivion. Like us, they have

their secrets and sorrows they cannot

share. Like us, they glow in the night’s

pool-deep eye, unanchored

despite the gravity.


Fields of

mystics invading

my mind.

My womb is full

of mercy’s fine touch. Ideals

call and create

gusts of sobs. Sombre

smooth skin

and smoke

spiralling into

the air.

Sudden glory,

swift as

a dagger

and then

nothing at

all. My

tongue is

curled into

a knot –

What is

the point

of speaking?

I hold

my mouth

in the

stance of

song. I see


in the sky

brushed by a wink





ALLISON GRAYHURST is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Four of her poems were nominated for “Best of the Net” in 2015/2018, and one eight-part story-poem was nominated for “Best of the Net” in 2017. She has over 1200 poems published in more than 475 international journals and anthologies. In 2018, her book Sight at Zero, was listed #34 on CBC’s “Your Ultimate Canadian Poetry List”. Her book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers, a Porcepic Book, in Vancouver in 1995. Since then she has published sixteen other books of poetry and six collections with Edge Unlimited Publishing. Prior to the publication of Somewhere Falling she had a poetry book published, Common Dream, and four chapbooks published by The Plowman. Her poetry chapbook The River is Blind was published by Ottawa publisher above/ground press December 2012. In 2014 her chapbook Surrogate Dharma was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press, Barometric Pressures Author Series. In 2015, her book No Raft – No Ocean was published by Scars Publications. More recently, her book Make the Wind was published in 2016 by Scars Publications. As well, her book Trial and Witness – selected poems, was published in 2016 by Creative Talents Unleashed (CTU Publishing Group). She is a vegan. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay;

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