Christopher Hopkins

Good night my love.
Good night,
my love and truth.
I must give you up,
...

Your love,
just barged in,
knocking over drinks in my safe
little corner world.
...

Deep in the rusting heart,
valves tire of the oxide wash.
Lung and limbs struggle on,
but they have no chance.
...

The sun's accomplice shines
In the tracing paper sky.
Moonbeams do your worst,
With your pale knives in the room.
...

And the sun bowed its head to the day,

and the night bled its ink,
...

Her invented life, never came back home.
The front door still open to her little refugees.
The Chapel stone, now colder.
Its spaces as black as the wet slates,
...

A blue arm of smoke, rises.
Lost to sight,
returning cast over sky,
and the autumn rainbows are falling apart.
...

Days as different,
as different as the colour of bone and mud.

The weathered carcass of hill pony,
...

It was a welcome sight,
only known to them,
Hooker and line.
Of the importance,
...