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Storm Warning<\/strong><\/p>\n Uncanny light. Clouds taut as spoons. tuned to a canine pitch. A tree lurches with a scaffolding of shadows. Below the Embankment, the river heaves, On Albert Bridge, we pause. Petrified by <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n After living in Venice, Italy for nine years, Rachel Spence<\/strong> now lives in London. Her poetry has been published in Iota magazine,<\/em> the 2013 Peleton<\/em> anthology (Templar) and Rhyme & Reason<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Storm Warning Uncanny light. Clouds taut as spoons. From my high window, the world is tuned to a canine pitch. A tree lurches in the wind, scribbling the wall with a scaffolding of shadows. A threnody of grief in those italic branches. Below the Embankment, the river heaves, as if an animal […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6774","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6774","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6774"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6774\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6777,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6774\/revisions\/6777"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6774"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6774"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6774"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nFrom my high window, the world is<\/p>\n
\nin the wind, scribbling the wall<\/p>\n
\nA threnody of grief in those italic branches.<\/p>\n
\nas if an animal were trapped beneath its folds.<\/p>\n
\nthis set trap of a morning. Its wired silence.<\/p>\n