Sawing into time- Wigtown Writer-in-Residence, poem in response to studio 72

Rusty table at costume designer's studio

 

Spring Fling- poem in response to Studio 72

72

 

Smell of sawdust

and smooth round rings

caught in polish, hammering

a nail into experience

sawing into time

turning it on a lathe

to give it muscle –

to give it a leg

so it can stand

still

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