Cally Conan-Davies

This isn’t maths — perhaps it is a collapse of certainties. Perhaps it can’t configure planes, yet it can cloud our blue remains so when we fall as rain will do, nothing fails to carry through.

Bloody hell, the world’s turned upside down the flame tree has become geranium my coral bed has grown into a tree the hummingbird you hammered to the wall though tin, could any moment turn and flee. The yellow sky has gone all roundabout and clover threes where seaweed used to be and blood blossoms with fire, the powers below grow higher — if things turn right-way-up will the falling fire stop? The wave is in the hill the nest abandons me and all the reddened earth is still igniting