Sybil and the shroud

By -
Gossamer slips between my fingers,
hovers
over a mirroring grey-white froth on the sea. 

I think of the sleeping stones;
unsettling,
unsettling their secrets.

I let mine fly —
the sunrise eats the veil
of them

and day feels so desperately 
different 
and the flowers
untinted.


Inspired by 'The Knight and the Moth'

C. LJ Ireton 2026


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