by Peter Holm-Jensen

There was the Fullness and there were the wastes where you roamed and found your first separation. You were chased by rays of light through the courts of symmetry and hounded through empty galaxies. When you hurtled into this air you hid in skies livid with the threat of thunder, in dark throats of caves. You ducked into the hut of mutiny, so different from your first estate, gritted to stay for eternities; asked and expected nothing. Spirits scratched at the windows like branches. You let them into your falling and gave them fake credentials for a wild solitude: you found your calling.


Peter Holm-Jensen, author of Resolution, is an émigré living in the UK, where he writes Notes from a Room.