Maybe the rippled surface of the lakeis a gateway to stars in a different sky,and maybe the probing of pike nosingthrough roe deer bones, marrow suckling,is invocation of an appeal to the cosmos.Maybe you’ll hear our wretched prayers?In our furs and our antlers, we pay tribute,while soft voice of fluid dynamics whisperskisses on pebbled beaches. Combing thisshore we find a knapped shard of flint,we etch linear sequences, gouge into bone;sparks from your pyrite ignite into stars,from cooking fire rise like mirrored snow,in lake’s mirrored surface, to heavens below.
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About the writer
Thomas Ray. Thomas Ray is a poet living in York. He has a BA in English Language and Literature and works in brain injury rehabilitation. His poems are grounded in his working-class background, socialist politics, and deal with a diverse array of subject matters: contemporary politics and social issues, mythology, culture, art, and the relationships between people. His work has been likened to frontline war reporting, stark and shocking, relishing the interesting, beautiful and uncanny in the everyday.
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