Turning a Corner
Round the back of the church hall
snail tracks riddle their moonlight
across the top of a wall.
This spell will heal the cracks
between the bricks, turn mortar weeds
to herbs that dispel all sorrow.
Touch the wall and a dark mercury
enters your veins; midnight crumbles
but remains moved by these curious
messengers in some other time:
their slow revelations, manifesting
words that are only felt for, never found.