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
—-breathing
——–‘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…
