A cut
fragile skin
‘What do you hold?’
Paper thin
—-speckles of dust

She looks down
in the space that sits her heart
‘Who defines the edge of me?’
She asks

A glass sits on her desk
filled to the brim
with clear water
‘What do you hold?’
She asks,
the sea
——the clouds
———–the rain

Is it the cells, the bones, the veins
the heart, the breath
——–‘Where am I in all of this?’

Is it the elbow leaning against the table
The ear listening to a distant voice
Maybe the thought of a cup of green tea
Who defines the edge-
the edge of me?
She tilts her head towards the horizon
her eyes find the crescent
A pause

How far is a step
When edges are no longer defined by me…