Longhand from ⁂ by skornachgaldrinn

It seems every name ends
in a will-o’-the-wisp,
but it’s yours I found repeating across the land

(and the way the same becomes you
carries in the rust, in the pipes
and the lamps
and the guilty glow
that drips onto me)



The weight of the light
as it bears down on her mind
is the weight of her body and their words combined

It makes all the sullen noises laughter,
it leaves her straying, stirring sparks
It makes every footfall
be longhand,
be headlong
belong here, alone



Waves of every beacon, bound
to break atop the spires,
push out towards where you might be found;

but it’s only
ghost words

and it’s only
most words;

Still, ever-slowly,
she takes hers

• Experimental
• acoustic
• ambient
• field recordings
• folktronica
• selfmade
• Berlin