What is this enchanted place?
You look as though you’re my killer
But no, you’re the savior of those
Lost to tendrils of dark philosophy
When I saw imprints of the Psalms
Tattooed on your grizzled face,
I knew straight away you’d save
Me from this god-forsaken place
Thank you, and please accept this
Token: the blood-soaked hand
That barely understands the
Liminal spaces we exist in.
Author’s Note: The first line of this poem is from “The Dream Play” by Derek Mahon.