trimmed

I trimmed my life
with small, pointed
scissors, cutting
tight to the edge

of reason - neatly
removing untidy
pieces, which had
frayed through

years of neglect,
as if, in the doing
I could restore
the illusion of

what I called
control, but which
had little power
to influence, let

alone dictate.
And so, the years
were neatened and
brought to order.

Or so I told myself.

Stability

Form shaped by years,
where place is known
and held, despite the
passage of time...

so do we recognise
and inform our spaces;
so do we create that
sense of familiarity

which breeds content,
and masquerades as
home, as something
stable and known. 

Pulled

Pulled into small places,
held by time and circumstance,
required to be something
unexpected, if not unimagined,

Such is the way and weight
of the years, which rock in
slow, determined motion,
urging me into position.