I left my body when the new regime took over/Without hope of reform nor subversion

I can hear voices, a cold brush of air like breath ebbing along the bed sheets. I want to reach out, to stroke his cheek or hold my children’s tired bodies until they decide to stir.

Call him by name, the hunter Orion, Bound to the sky with strands of the night; - - - -Winter and Spring, - - - -And farewell the Summer;

A re-telling of the tale of St. George and the dragon. Present tense as a stylistic choice. Among other changes, I've switched the roles of Paganism and Christianity.

This is a futuristic version of a traditional folk song, "The Trees They Do Grow High".

Wide the world and deep the sky, Tomorrow is as yet - The Love that I have chosen Never have I met. Trembling the leaves as they fall from the tree - For fear that I ask of them

Smouldering fixation...