Dusk by Stephen Elliot

The day darkens.
The wilting shadow of an infant birch
Grants its last leaf to the pavement,
Shivering;

Becomes the gnarled, knotted hand
Of Otherworld,
Each twig-shade a
Spindle fingered cipher
Feeling.
fnordFondling.

Tickling the evening into passage.

The moment shifts.
Streetlights flicker and buzz into being.
A portal shuts.

Stephen Elliot is a 20 year old Belfast man currently studying English Literature at Strathclyde University, Glasgow.

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