theresa my sight
we met on saint walpurgis night
in the oak, for at least an hour
the curfew, look to me
no other did you see
only our eyes need sight
I need not the colour
let it be night
rub cardamom in my eyes
inject artemisia into the iris
bulge my lens with flax & anise
now there is no oak that is greeted by the sun
& in which war would you not leave me?
--Steven J Fowler has published poetry with nearly 100 journals & ezines and had chapbooks published by Oystercatcher, Arthur Shilling, Zimzalla & the Red Ceilings amongst others. He edits the weekly interview series Maintenant for 3am magazine and is the author of two collections of poetry, Red Museum (with Knives Forks and Spoons press) and Fights (with Veer press). He is a former professional fighter and a current employee of the British Museum. www.sjfowlerpoetry.com.