AP 3

The White Place

That memory or dream
landscape you travel alone,
white noise breaking
the stillness, a mask
of moonlight.

Names come pattering
across the frozen screen,
villages and towns where messages
might be delivered,
packets of lives.

Beyond nuclear winter
or folds of impregnable rock
the swing of stars, like silvered bees,
circles forever
the white place in shadow.


Margaret Bradstock.