by JLM Morton

The walls are playing
with light, just before
twilight, colour of ripe
wheat at Lughnasadh,
the space between
shadows, dog alert
for the fox on the road.

In this time of lean
harvest, just for
a moment, the quiet
song of us beats
in the wisteria,
lambent leaves
on the ceiling.

The gladioli are the reddest
they’ve been all day,
vulvas lit by descending
sun, you, the grip
of my thighs
a vase, calling in
the dusk.

JLM Morton is a British poet and writer. Highly commended by the Forward Prizes and longlisted in the National Poetry Competition, she is the winner of the Laurie Lee and Geoffrey Dearmer prizes. Her first collection is Red Handed (Broken Sleep Books, 2024). Find her online at jlmmorton.com.