Alison Bloomfield

Under glass
In light that whirrs and listless air
We sit
But we are not silent

The wise man with the mechanical eye can peel back the layers of time
He calculates aeons and how we fell

The seer with the soft hands will know us gently
He can feel the warriors fervour & the mothers heart

But what of you?

Here now, in the galleries of retrospect, between the conundrums left, fragmented and beautiful, conspicuous and delicate

We are the most human

Come sit with us & sing


Alison Bloomfield