I Dawn alop. Balefire season. We in blood red honey beam. Spokes still blur, still squall their way to the hassock cusp. No one now can stop this body of light (body of light) from yawning. In the marrow field no purple x-axis found. And yet from here the truth seems all lemon flecked: one stout eye of the ocean still looms deep within a dew drop. II Pecking at the pips in an arm crook. How very joy footed. But don’t dare say, don’t take the words, leave be. Seems have peeled well to the fruit pile this mere moon, mind maybe, or boggy boot hollow. So don’t shimmer or slalom to a halt when deftly upended from the dog’s bed. No light ray then, no halo of frost, no, don’t say. Just imagine, backscattering the snaggle again, near enough ecstatic. Dylan Hussey (he/him) is a writer based in Norwich. His work has previously been published in the The 6ress The Horizon Magazine and algia and he has poems forthcoming in publications from Illagrypho Press and Full House Lit Magazine. @DylanJHussey website - https://dylanhussey.wordpress.com