Caitlyn Mackley, Thesan


Caitlyn Mackley

Thesan, 2018

Oil on Canvas, 122 x 91



Clouds rise from their nests

with flapping wings, they whisper

of worn leather, bracken, long

horizons, and the manes of dark

horses. In the waking stream

the stones lie like chestnuts

in a glass bowl. I pass the bones

of an old harrow thrown on its side

in the ditch.


Now the sun appears.

It is a fish wrapped in straw.

Its scales fall on the sleeping

town with its eyeless graineries

and necklace of boxcars. Soon

the blue wind will flatten the roads

with a metallic palm, the glitter

of granite will blind the eyes.


But not yet. The beetle still

stares from the riding moon, the ship

of death stands motionless on

frozen waves: I hear

the silence of early morning

rise from the rocks.


George Hitchcock