Sunday, 30 August 2026

soul and bone

 
the soul thought firmly set
until love ransacked it blind
lungs, tendons, heart and all

the spirit ethered off
left but bled-out tissues
their fate the colour of mud

adamant to carve through
a paring knife, twist-gnawing
right where soul meets bone

 

The Spinner

  Here I was, am, shall be, tending the tree I planted, by the well I built, with water from my hands. The clay under my fingernails that wo...