In the Cleft of the Blankets
Roll them around us in a cocoon,
Our bodies on the hillside under the stars.
Nubbly tweed against my skin,
I cling as close to you as lichen.
Flesh falls away like the bark of wild fuschia.
The least willow is crippled by the wind.
The end of it all will be death,
What will become of us, in time?
Bones, stars, brittle remnants.
from Fire-Penny (Otago University Press, 2005), © Cilla McQueen 2005, used by permission of the author and the publishers. Recording from a private recording: Cilla McQeen reads from Fire-Penny and Soundings (2011)