Cracks form in the pottery
as the clay flexes –
The grooves filled in
with opalled glaze
to form paralyzed rivers –
All movement frozen
in the heat of a moment –
Imperfectly stunning –
I wonder if I’ve left traces
under the fingernails
of God

© christine DINGLEY 2013



They burned this island
three years ago.

Bleach-white bones splinter
fall upon themselves
into the blackened flesh.
The deer have left the island
only the flies remain.

This corpse explodes with life –
a stag turns its branchéd crown.
The stone oracle still stands
but in the end it crumbles
and only the flies remain.

© christine DINGLEY 2012