Age of gold Burnish the armour. Drench the altar. Flourish the treasure. Or walk out into a flare of sunlight that’s all that matters here, this moment. Those gods you named and brought to life seem to like you. Days like this, you might expect to hear from one. Pellucid, bright as a rock-pool at sunrise is how oracles speak the day before the … Continue reading Three poems by Alasdair Paterson