By monochrome mountains, on dulled mornings
worn from overuse, through an empty land
that smells of pine needles, cough medicine
and wet soil, I walk from huddled village
to towns felled by funghi, holding deep
in my ribcage a still glowing star fragment.
On market days, I set up my simple stall
and for a few copper coins, I crack open
my sternum with a chisel, so that others
may warm numbed fingers, might close eyes
and feel their skin as golden for a time,
laugh uninterrupted by constant clouds.
David Ralph Lewis (www.davidralphlewis.co.uk) is a poet based in Bristol, UK who has been published in Marble Poetry Magazine, Nine Muses Poetry and NeonMagazine. He has two pamphlets, Our Voices in the Chaos published by Selcouth Station and Refraction. He enjoys dancing badly at gigs and attempting to grow vegetables.