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Ammonite by Helen Evans


Balanced like a coin

on the tip of my finger,


exquisite as

anything by Fabergé,


this snail-swirl

of Fool’s Gold, cast


in seabed silt

and filled with quartz


200 million years before

we became


***


tilt it forwards/

backwards/

forwards/


to the shimmering flames

of the hearth


and each ridged cell


loses/

catches/

loses/


the chancy firelight


shrinks/

swells/

shrinks/


breathing


_____________

Helen Evans’s pamphlet is Only by Flying (HappenStance Press). Poems have appeared in The Rialto, The North, and Magma; another was a joint winner of the Manchester Cathedral 600 competition. She has an MLitt in Creative Writing (University of St Andrews).www.helenevans.co.uk

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