The Edge

The outside is full of lines, like a fold up paper box, one I am in and also am
standing outside of.
Like moving squiggles of a cartoon that define the horizon and its depth,
I watch the lines fold and unfold all around me, a dance both bright and dark.

Time wraps itself around shadows the lines amuse themselves with,
as I push the box as far as it will go, with a sound like hissing summer grass.
Where will the lines take me, how will I know if I will get there at all?

Some journeys we take all alone, no matter how many seem to tag along.
Once or twice I thought I saw the road uphill not too far from where the lines became a star,
but I think I was just dreaming, I should have by now have reached that point.

Inside the lines are softer and have warm colours to ease my mind.
Might as well relax, I am not getting out of here, without a cracked line
running alongside the cracks in my whistle and my song.



Trudi Ralston.
December 27th, 2017.