Meg Ferguson

She doesn't know what she looks like. 
Front on and flat: fine. 
Still sections with perspective she didn’t trust: plenty. 
But a moving whole, what others saw, 
she couldn’t see.

Bodies                        sigh

A place of                                                      refuge                                     from

sigh

Language is both inside and out. We fall past it and it falls in us. Swallow words, soak in them and they’ll enter through the skin.

But what if the ground we long for is there but in a different form? No longer an external object but one that must be found internally: even when we fall, we fall with our bodies.