Christopher Hopkins writes

Night rover

Tall fish hooks light, 

burning yellow bait,

staggered, 

like the picked ribs of a whale,

igniting the emptiness 

over the rushes of blood and the marrow, 

the red and white, 

down the black curving spine of the beast.

My ride moves forward  

with the back end canvas 

of a van in front. 

To one side,

the glare of that white marrow rush, 

To the other

the dark bracken, 

where the wild dogs wait.

 

 Tube Shelter Perspective -- Henry Moore