Nocturnal Souls


Nocturnal Souls



Those pure, breathable love-notes

written on Japanese paper.

Our house, rain-cold

with dawn dying in every corner.


When you sleep

I believe I am made of ice. I travel

in my frozen figure, spiralling,

drilling up

into God’s domain. While you, flat

amongst the covers, breathe slow like

roots, touchable, sacred

as the shadows of my mortality are born

then perish in the wind’s mute philosophy.

Loneliness infects us all. You have told me,

there will never be a simpler tomorrow.


Cut flowers lean their bloom on pale walls.

I drop my mouth like wine dripped

on your shoulder.

You wake and find me,

hauntingly yours.



Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst




Published in “New Mystics” May 2018



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:




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