Alchemisland

I must go further, beyond furze to a place of many turnings

Holy books burning, writ and wit of heretics quickly purged

No more will caged birds sing

I leave my gaol, fleeing bound for ancient sands

Sol’s scalding hands pressing flat to my back burn and sizzle

Kingmaking domain where only the solid-made stay long

Scouring day and freezing night

All life’s winters condensed to flensing whole

Taking the sun’s path to be bathed, my hidden half grows taller 

Standing directly in front of an active projector, bars of protective light

Unite upon the perfect canvas of my flesh, flash photography in the dark.