JAMES WALSH is moved by a provocative and original take on the relationship between ecology and architecture, and a plea to work with, not against, the materials and minerals of our world
Nothing More
Joseph Massey
Clover mite crushed
under my finger, red
streak dragged over a blank
page, as blank
as the hour, the day,
despite the low hum
in the apartment:
refrigerator motor
kicking on, the old man
across the hall talking
to himself. It isn’t enough
to write into this
vacancy, to say
the day’s blank—
but what else is summer:
what doesn’t heat hollow
and reduce to a streak—
these blown husks
striking pavement,
a wasp trapped
between panes of glass.
Leave the page stained.
A book of stains.
The room dissolving
around a bolt of sun
slashed down the wall.
by Francesco Sani
by Mary Gilonne
by Alistair Findlay
by Rosie Jackson



