A blade slices deftly through thin skin,
Not intentionally
Though then, it would have been much less surpising.
But caught unaware, now becoming all the more observant,
With the terrible dread of what's to come.
And, for a single, endless moment, there is no blood
Just a fleshy interruption
Of an otherwise unbroken landscape.
A seemless pattern of lines with almost imperceptible depth
Split by one harsh fissure.
By comparison, stretching deep into the world below.
Panic and wonder and excitement at the ****,
A new formation on the old plain
The possibility to make one different.
The skew of lines are unique,
But the marks formed by old pains
Have far more to say.
In another moment, the blood comes,
The brilliance passed
In the maroon tumult from the chasm.
Awe passes to action,
To stop the flow
Effort to restore the expanse to its uncut perfection,
Or better yet,
To skip straight to finding beauty again
In the resplendent scar.