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The Fine Line
Resting outside on the skin of the hill
is a 'Chanel' line of silver thread
I think it holds the sky in place.
Confining the solid in a gauzy case
I feel its weight as if it's something dead
resting outside on the skin of the hill.
It has the quality of a hard winter's chill
that murders the plants and creeps into your bed,
and I think it holds the sky in its place.
The soils and seas are caught in the sting of mace
at being separated from the sky they'd wed
resting outside on the skin of the hill.
The sunset on the horizon's an aborted kill
the heavy blood ochre spread
could be what holds the sky in its place.
Is that why I have to avert my face?
From that line like the stab behind a cameo head,
resting outside on the skin of the hill.
I think it holds the sky in its place.
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