29 MAY 1993, Page 32

Outside the Circle

I worked through all your tricks. I slit the sleeves, I tugged fine strings which joined the handkerchiefs.

The disappearing girl was always there Crammed in compartments false as her dyed hair.

I burned the cards you nicked with hidden signs.

Solid as smoke, the moon walks on the square. Magician, can you call back half your loves? Dust, the empty seats await you there, Light; and the astonished flight of doves.

Alison Brackenbury