I saw a jerky film of me: b&w, slow frame rate;
out of context, out of time
I was hewing like an artisan:
iron-bound to closely-drawn detail
through handles grafted in my skin –
exercising agency…
as if that would decipher hell;
Staring, puzzled, across the dislocation
(How had I flown across it?)
To see beyond a darken-glass:
where webs of speculation crystallised
from 2, or maybe 3, firm points of data –
liminal, then clarified…
fine patterns filigree from air;
How had I flown across that gulf
not once but many times?