trout

The First Upheaval

Claire Hero

For most of my history I stood at the edge

then one Tuesday I shift in my bed, and
                                                  thus began

the first phase:
chains linking all through my 'little island'.

Each day the content gets up
and re-examines its form:

fine growth of cloud thick country

It is I alone who made it,
or so they say. How up-lifting.

The consequent interruptions continue
for years     or years     years

In the final moment of the first

upheaval, the self
buckles up, only to be worn smooth.

                              (Still, I'm having trouble finding the path [pass?]
                              through this "inner mountain" consciousness.)

All the same, the bed is re-made each morning.