From my Christmas tree
There hangs a crystal prism,
Spangling light
Into seven of the purest colours.

I only have to twist
My head a fraction
To slip
from primordial red
past a glowing orange, flowing
with the richest yellow,
through shimmering, aqueous green,
to three hues of blue
(the darkest, twilight sky)
And back again,
To revel the refraction.

And as I run this frozen rainbow
I remember Noah’s arch
And the oath
Spanning every mortal age
That, cradled as we are,
All shall be well.

So look with me for prisms
in mist from the garden hose,
a bevelled mirror’s edge,
a cut-glass water jug,
or other ordinary things
Which spell the old promise,

Unlocking from the white
This love-borne, tinted light

Poems for Artemis.