Issue 12

Summer 2014


Serra de Tramuntana, Mallorca

We have passed through southern rains on this trail
into the mountains, through holm oak
and olive drenched in moss ripe as verdigris.

Sheep bells are echo sounders in a hushed world
where water holds its own weight
and sheathes us in the coarse linen of pilgrims,

keeps us from seeing further
than the next bend ahead,
from making sense of map or boundary.

A brushstroke is all that lies
between us and a plunge over blackened
rocks to the looping road below.

To balance here, I need foliate wings,
dark-leaved and viridescent,
to lift and swirl in the leaden air
and carry me, carry me down.


Jessica Penrose