The Stations Of The Moth


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Where were you when the lights went out?
On the broken shores of sleep, a little fish,
the sea like cold jam, up to my thighs in it.

And the night? An inexplicable bruise,
the trip-wire night to the trapdoor years,
the old coin of moon down, the dark spiraling,
a pharaoh’s curse, like the blood of the lamb.

Your dreams? At each breath we lose a number,
some to salt, to war, to ruin;
their quiet sweep through the walls and water.
As if? As if a body in the bed.

And, like any path, a dream just ends —
I awoke to a Big Door slamming, the sky
flushed with acid-orange, the ants roaring.

Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician, came to poetry late but has enjoyed a large number of publications in the past 10 years, recently gaining airplay for his poems and songs in the U.K., Australia and the U.S.A. The So-Called Sonnets, is his first book, which this audio poem is an excerpt from. More information can be found on his website: