You who are tiger and square root of Pi,
storm’s eye and spirit level,
taser and ankh,
tombstone and dream,
Crac des chevaliers,
and rainbow after rain—

You who are errant as lightning,
you who are final as fate,
you who are meagre and mountain,
slaughter and lamb—

You who are cuneiform, shipwreck,
sextant and Zodiac,
you the mandala and Maginot line—

You the obsidian dagger,
you the oxygen mask,
+++++++you on the Pegasus,
+++++++you on the cross,
Queen’s quorum and Ubu Roi,—

You the Eagle of the Ninth,
you the hosting of the Sidhe,
you on the road to Santiago,
your name in binary code,
+++++++moon, sun,
+++++++psychopsilocybin,
and Voyager I.

You who are human,
miracle, mess,
can be no more,
can be no less.

Sammy Jay, 29, grew up in Oxford and in Ireland by the sea. He is a rare book dealer with Peter Harrington of London, and has just issued his first trade catalogue: Poetry. He has been a poet since he can remember, but this is the first publication of his adult work. He is working on his first collection.