The Burning & The Self Edge

heart-form cups, encloses, softness of brittle dryness.

the edge

the very edge

touched
by warmth

turn turn the other cheek turn again

fold in.

selvedges that aren’t so neat
brink of senses feeling

a roll of cloth flies open I cannot gather it all into my arms

that which I can
I crumple
crease.
wrap round roll in bind tight
my edge held tight
covered tight

mmmmmistake:
mmmmnow my inside is wrapped around my outside

the selvedge is to stop the unravelling
the edge of the same, the edge of the self

scar tissue isn’t so pretty
best to unwrap, fold flat,
concertina
neat
slip this that other inside, hide
smooth

splitting yet bound

A scalding creature has slipped inside my skin
It threatens to explode scatter out and screams
to be held tight.

or perhaps it is an icy creature
under skin, into ribs

the soft creature deep inside
stretches out a shadow hand
and places it over a left lung high on the ribcage
a thumb touching a sternum

fog...no snow

damp cold fog. as we drive through the village I see peoples' breath in the air. down the road I see the mountain beside it a wall of fog filling the valley. we drive into that fog. such a heavy fog that it drips

cold

wonderful frosty morning. chase around with my new camera. more frozen rain with frost at first but about 10 when the clouds cleared again it became just misty, the humididty rose and drew up more white fronds. The garden is full of apples, happy happy blackbirds.

one day it will become too unsafe not too cry