photos / Alex Franco

poem / Greta Bellamacina

I counsel the hours

as I imagine you to do,

 

tis love-groves going clockwise

from London bridge, in June-bells.

 

Humane father

half-way dumb,

 

ajar our necks watery

like a daisy-chain, trailing the Thames.

 

O’ shape

O’ row

 

We do not hide our eyes

cause we have trampled the same glimpse alive,

 

taller organisms to the skies

concealed in harmless rain.

 

New-born UFO

for what life was to be.

 

I must be apart of you.

I shall never escape.

 

O’ sight

O’ unend