On the Edge

Out here

The East Anglian landscape is so flat

That the curvature of Earth is apparent

And so here is not so flat at all

A world of its own

Even the sea moves on a different level

From beyond the dykes and shingle banks

Winds from North and East hold sway

Mighty oaks are bent to their will

Brow beaten in perpetual homage to Njord

This vast, sparse expanse

Denuded of shape

A dinner plate piled high

With sky

.

n.b. We are not alone; it just feels like that sometimes.

n.n.b. Njord was the Norse god of wind and sea, (and wealth).

On the Inside

Thoughts held tight

Multiply in solitude’s echo chamber

These flies hatch from eggs laid deep

Kept cool by winter

Until Spring’s first warmth seeps in

Here they are

Buzzing, banging on glazing

Repeating knock out blows

Frenzied attempts to pass the glass

Crashing time after time

Despite concussive impacts

Leaving sickness, giddiness

Confusion.

.

See the window is open!

Let them fly free

.

n.b. We are not alone.

CLP 25/03/2020