Time turns
as trees tower
and timber twists
into smooth splinters
while pins are pitched
to positions to perch from.
Turn and twist,
sharp and shine,
we are metal
mounded into movement,
mounted over meek or muscle;
run us jagged
into the bitter night
and watch us
under moonlight
saw the stars from sight,
slip us smooth
onto soft side
with caress of kiss
and kind concern
and catch us
bend from blade
into blanket,
silver swayed stars
that shine in their shift
from sever to forever.
Our dichotomy hangs
On a pin portrayed.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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