Francesca Bratton

Morning

violet  comes      lick    the brow
                           between     the fingertips’
fingers pills     call them
                 “dactyls”       then

map        a fall    on magnolia walls   to turn
 -months since such a turn-
                           do not hope           dear heart

hollow  thoughts now      spare
         your glances steel
         flash     in the violet     morning
                           now      go the violet
                           do not hope      the violet

fall against     the               steel flash
          you sound   like laughter
                           sound         like metallic harping

     approach with  shaking   hands
the line of bones              sink     into a spring
          the small pushes the body into    pure
awake    under the light      shaping a cone  from the shade

it is bright there       and kiss its brightness.

Francesca Bratton was shortlisted for the Oxonian Review Poetry Competition 2012

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