The Wound ©
Healing skin is growing
Like a spider spins it's web.
On films of shining gossamer
That skims a tidal web.
But if the spindle shatters
Like a rock upon the shore,
And splits the root that's seeded
Like an apple from its core.
Then crimson seas will gather
On their beds of netted gauze,
With vapour trail incisions
Weeping through internal walls.
But catch the weave in progress,
Feed the spool with sterile soups.
Scrape the crust around the middle,
Stitch the hems with safety loops.
Let the sunshine reach the healing
And undress this pot of gold.
Leave Nature's engine running,
And perfection will unfold.