12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice


these things are for the gods
for a breathing soul
can’t know how it’s held
no visible handles in its choppy planes
a shell-less egg
above a tealight

you punish for inventories kept
chastise for reveals
for confession
admission, admonition

the gem, the carbuncle
is not my story to tell
nor yours to cart

such, such weight
your little soul holds
such blistering now
over easy

so, murmur me, you
this infinite
and I
feather-eared, gate-teethed
will lighten you in passing


image and poetry © Alison Boyd.

2 comments on “Secret

  1. Karin
    October 22, 2013

    Even the idea of a secret is a mystifying one. I think you captured that well.

Tell me wotcha reckon

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