Stamped against the stranded silt of gloomed sky,
The pierced piano key plunges downward…
Its ambience is the air of dark ‘twixt
With day, liquescent inside that steady
Time in which rouge reaps the dust of mountains.
Ensconced, tilted, trying, shamed, to rekindle
Its phasing blaze, caged within the cold gyre
Of the perpetual path it stirs in.
His clear crystal of shade obscurity
Shams the taut tips of the stars it steals from.

Winter Reflections

Through their snow’s cutting edge,
I crack, my kitchen’s printed mirror,
I see their knives, their silver bench,
Through eyes seen-through their gilded glimmer.

Outside, in night, I see through slits,
My mind, mirrored on two, sides,
My body, in strict string, submits,
Outside, in night, held back by sky.

Through views keel-through their barbed bifocal,
I see their spoons, their aurous metal,
I crack, my kit speech’s frosted vocals,
Through their bow’s echoed fettle.

Hilton Voss is a Tasmanian writer. He is the recipient of numerous awards, including an inaugural Andrew Hardy Youth Poetry Prize.

2 thoughts on “Moondust

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