portion of the artwork for Tim Tomlinson's poem

Morning in Islington
Tim Tomlinson

The heavy stone of the full moon
at dawn sinking
toward the rooftops, its pale yellow light
on the garden.

A fox skitters
across a crescent of hard snow, slips
into the cover of privet.

The golden blue silence …
… a winter Sunday—the neighbors’ windows are empty.
I want to see everything. Everything.

I’ll never be ready to die.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 29 | Summer 2010