Witness
the birth of a new planet:
an amassing sphere of spiderlings,
packed like crushed coriander seeds,
quietly consolidating their dream of an
imperfect circle. Disturbed, they run, a broken
yolk, in all directions, plot a constellation, range
like a rash on the warm skin of the wall, before
amending, regrouping, adapting. Determinedly
rounding. Remembering again their unlike
pole. One world, for now,
mended.
This is where we meet by Sorcha Sheehy Williams (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)
I was prepared to feel alone, expected the government-mandated 2-metre gap to yawn between us, cold and hostile. I expected these new spaces to be