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The last 60 seconds of morning

Greta Bellamacina

Thunder first, locked up in babble 

rain-eyed gods on their backs


you staying in the forefront, 

black ribbon, angel headless,


four standing roses and a background of wind-split 

you died in America for the last time


Jason Molina holding all the horses 

behind the last slip dawn rain


I cannot live in a place that doesn't save its people in time

I cannot live in a place that doesn’t live out its own odyssey


so the myths are paralysed

the myths are luminous riddles  


the horses are all full 

the saints are bold cannons


love is a vacuum mist

a showed weekend of dreams on repeat 


A distant screen to both worlds

a second think to the running light


10 seconds where morning is at one with daytime

clasping in the change of lightness 


lugging the stones of womanliness 

peaking and popping when everything breaks


10 seconds where morning is at one with daytime

a spin of patter, a direction that needs no explanation 


downwards to the earth 

a curtain of forward and back


A slide of swan dance 

swaying in animal timing 


the last joy to morning is the memory 

the animals are laughing 


grasping forward they escape

light continues to slide out

the gods are asleep now and far away

a preview of reflections border the world


night is lowered to day and the actors arrive 

worrying their costumes. 

Commissioned for National Poetry Library's Open Day 2018 on the theme of 'Odysseys'. Part of London Literature Festival.