• author
    • Stacey Robinson

      Blogger
    • November 18, 2013 in Columnists

    Unseen Edges

    I do not feel
    My body.
    That is–
    The outlines of it,
    or the inroads
    That thread through me
    From somewhere unseen
    To the edges that end
    Beyond some internal event horizon.

    There is wind, though,
    That dances along my skin.

    I do not feel
    My body.
    I do not feel
    The suddenness of ice
    That slips upwards,
    Pools inwards:
    An absolute zero of fear.
    I do not feel
    The scattered grit of despair
    and grief,
    A corrosive grinding against
    My heart
    that leaches away light
    And hope.
    I do not feel.

    I will not.

    There is wind, though,
    That dances along my skin.

    I do not feel
    I will not feel
    my body.
    There is no contraction,
    No breathlessness,
    No searing absence
    Nor pulsing,
    tidal loss.

    There is wind,though,
    That dances along my skin,
    Still carrying the scent
    Of you.



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