Poetry

Spirit Level

Philippa Martyr

I felt the hand on my shoulder again:
The hand on my shoulder
And the great rip down reality
To show my hidden eyes and ears
The world beyond; the other place.
A joy and a curse; all I can hear is the music,
And all I can see is the ghost of the world
With gilt edges. My body wades in the present
And my soul bobs like a spirit-level inside it.

Philippa Martyr