by Beth Langford

Based upon the photograph Tintagel, Cornwall, Dec. 24, 1982 by Arthur Nishimura

Glossy wind, wind which lopes 
through oaks of unknown 
parentage, over broom and thrift and tittering
leaves that shine like fishes'
abandoned skins —

Raised dirt road, road
the cold, spurred light digs into,
road that holds the shape
that hooves, iron, rubber press 
into it, that leads 
only to more, confounding, light —

to Tintagel, the castle the giants
built by hand. 

the peninsula disappears, 
taken by fog, snowed upon though no 
clouds blot the sky, 
and stone by stone the giants gather 
the castle back into their arms.

Bikes whizz by, and carriages;
both drawn from memory.
A tree thrusts out over the road, 
crown heavy as gold, branch an antiquated hand 
twisting up to block the leering sun. 
The sky's a colloid, that greyish light
dispersing the shade of myth and wood,
and in the darkroom Tintagel
appears and blurs.

Beth Langford is the poetry editor of Ideomancer Speculative Fiction. She lives in Calgary, where she bakes many cookies and evidently enjoys the company of magpies.

When asked to name her favourite fruit, she replied as follows: "My favourite fruit is blueberries, but over the summer I've become a fan of the cherries sold at my neighbourhood farmer's market."

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