Juliet Wilson


Strange how deep under her skin he is. She only knows him through his distant admiration Across darkened dance-floors and concert halls. His desire waterfalls down her spine, Unnerves her, his heart’s poetry Troubles


(Morecombe Bay February 2004) Grey skies, cold and bitter wind A share of a damp mattress In an unheated room. You follow orders from the brother To the man who let your cousin die

The Lost Dances of Cranes

Your fields are empty now. Only your ghosts dance While cranes of another kind Dance cities into being. All that remain of you are A fading crackle of your energy And some grainy video