
In St James
by Milo Ghiandai | January 12, 2025
In St James
I lay sun-brushed and smothered;
The seeping day flowed beneath the midday
Air, the slow June sky hung high above,
Spreading swimming shadows about
My feet. The multrees whispered as away –
Far away – their branches and furrowed leaves
Brushed felted rushes. They spoke in low
Chimes, obscured and unheard, murmuring across
The ungraced canvas, a watcher’s quiet
leisure; a fresh-eyed tableau we saw
In the marsh – thinking the sky’s gloss
The palest ocean, and I the highest
Mountain – peering on the foamed boats’ slow
Passage between uncrest waves in sunlit glow.
In deep summer, the scorched earth underfoot,
Planes flew overhead, dipping in and out
Of clouds, alto and nimbo, I
Nimble-eyed traced a finger across the root
And stem of those smoky crystals, now about
My fingernail and vaporised high –
Destined to disappear; in fractal
Shapes, the blue swooned, full of teeming
Shards and soon – oblivion. Where loose-seated
Tactile giants floated above Hampstead’s
Ancient oaks – the valley gleaming
Below beech and sycamore trees, whose
Branch-fettered leaves seemed to envy the clouds
Slow witness of the hilled world’s turning hours.
Soon black clouds dilate the sky like a
Rush of blood to the heart, widening its veins;
Calmer waters rage – like undercurrents
beneath still rivers.
Words by Milo Ghiandai
Illustration by Lottie Thompson