The river is high these early hours,
a fine mist reminding us of the Ghost.
Someone coughs inside a distant cell,
someone chants matins, somewhere
a renegade brother brews beer.
Reports of plague illuminate our books,
while the sandstone walls weep
like open wounds. Young friars
play football amongst bean canes
and wild garlic, daydream of sun
on white fences, earthly mores.
Read more on Allegro Poetry, December 2019
Published by Daniel Bennett
I'm a writer and poet. My first novel, All the Dogs, appeared in 2008, and was described by Niall Griffiths as 'a stirring debut, a compellingly written tract on the importance of finding a place on the earth.' My fiction has appeared in London Noir, Crimewave, Black Static and 3AM. I live in London, where, amongst other things, I teach Creative Writing for the Open University. https://absenceclub.com
View all posts by Daniel Bennett