Back to print making last day @tremenheeresculpturegardens for the @nsanewlyn ExLibris exhibition tomorrow for this linocut with monoprint Responding in part to ... The Risen He stands, filling the doorway In the shell of earth. He lifts wings, he leaves the remains of something, A mess of offal, muddled as an afterbirth. His each wingbeat – a convicts release, What carries will be plenty. He slips behind the world’s brow As music escapes its skull, its clock and its skyline. Under his sudden shadow, flames cry out among thickets When he soars, his shape Is cross, eaten by light, On the Creator’s face He shifts world weirdly as sunspots Emerge as earthquakes. A burning unconsumed, A whirling tree – Where he alights A skin sloughs from a leafless apocalypse. On his lens Each atom engraves with a diamond In the wind–fondled crucible of his splendour The dirt becomes God. But when will he land On a man’s wrist. Ted Hughes

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