by Philip Berry

Margarita Georgiadis                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

An isolated gust
Rounds three sides of the locked church
Throws your hair forward
Into a black burst
Fixed at all points
Dialling back

To the day we met

I handle your hand
Press outsized knuckles
Prominent between skeletal connectors
Thinned in sadness
Nest of blue sticks
Hatching beads on a thread
An adolescent web

Our reciprocal trade
Not two feet from the place
I threw my future.

Sam Spratt                                     

Phil Berry is a London based writer and doctor. His fiction can be explored at