Precarious crucible A lip on the edge A tumour, a node Surface tension, On thought’s filament Spike of zest Rippling and full of wonder Do I dare poke a hole And admire what’s under? Do I dare incise? A line, a compromise A rift, a drypoint line, The burr is the red sea Above an intense reef Of life and death and Everything in between. A scarlet paradise the visceral eden of the pediatrician’s wall chart that haunts every child’s dream calls out to me as a mortal adult the terror of the dark itches just as much as the urge to pull away the flap and see what light has not yet graced Do I treat my own real estate like someone else’s property And follow noble orders? Or do I cultivate it and Dig for buried treasure? Hunt the beach, search for fossils? Dowse for water? Cleanse the land? Slash and burn? Carve out terraces? I take my knife I plow and explore.