The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Thursday, 7 August 2014
100-word proem from Worcestershire
I like the way the end line contains and completes the opening.
My dreams are missing and I wonder why I can’t reach them; as if the sea that laps my liminal shores is trapped.
Miles of sand, the sea a thin grey line, too far away and stilled. And so, one evening, I’m drawn to the window, looking for something to feed my sleep.
Or is it the light which catches my eye? Sun has thrown a lens of burnt orange over the land. Had thrown, now faded, sunk by the crenellated battle-ship cloud out in the northern sky.
A window opens on my dreamworld; let it wake me tonight.
© Miriam Hancock
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