Bog Queen

A Bog Queen’s body lies dead yet sleeping at the interface between Nature and Man, waiting (the word is repeated from the previous piece) between turf face and demesne wall between the heathery levels below and glass-toothed stone above. Her body has been subjected to the destructive forces of nature: a touch-code for Nature’s sightless trespassers: Braille for the creeping influences; victim of extreme temperature groped then cooled by the orbiting sun; consumed through my fabrics and skins by the seeps of winter and riddled with plant growth: illiterate roots that pondered and died/ in the cavings/ of stomach and socket. Her waiting rôle is reaffirmed, her brain stained by the peat (darkening) but ripe still with imagination: a jar […]