Like a crack in an ancient wall,
There is a border line,
A one-eye-closed window.
Snaking, encircling, the wall is vast
And yet a crack corrupts,
Splitting the wall at the midway point.
It is a mere hairline fracture;
A feature not immediately obvious,
Even up close.
But in the evening,
When the sun is low,
the light breaks through
And casts a rope of yellow,
A projection of glimmering thread,
Onto the inside of the opposite wall.
Eventually, when the sun is level
With the fracture on both sides,
A brittle plane of horizontal light,
Millimetres in thickness and
Vulnerable to the slightest change
In the sunlight’s angle, forms.
Rather indiscriminately, the
Infernal clockwork of the sun’s
Pattern holds, and the plane is
Broken at one end,
Only to be restored twice
Again tomorrow.
Sam Huddlestone 