Lynne Wycherley

Firstborn

[SG] would irradiate everyone, including the most
vulnerable to harm’ Dr Ron Powell

White-haired in moonlight, our shapes
struck from rock to stars
we are the firstborn, the elders,
our sugar-paper leaves: your lungs.

We cradle stars, infinities,
weightlessly carry their snow,
the world-wheel turning in charcoal.

Tousled head, sleep on,
Sky-coloured eggs,
the oak-bug in her taffeta,
moth pupa in fibreglass.

Sleep, sleep, in the world’s wood.
Vibirnum lantana: moon-scent.
Sorbus aria: lullaby.

Forest-deep, we’d
shield you, durmast and bole
but still you drive deeper,
gigabytes: an alien god, 5G
and children schooled in worship
still awake. Cheekbones

lit with eerie light.
Crinoids in shape-shifting seas.

Lynne Wycherley was born on the edge of the Fens, and its haunting landscape is a feature of many of her poems. After graduating from Leicester University, she worked in wildlife conservation archaeology and second-hand books. Lynne began writing poetry in 1995, and since then her scrupulously observed, sensuous and evocative poems have been widely published in most of the leading poetry journals and magazines. Her first full collection At the Edge of Light was warmly received and quickly exhausted its print run.