“…For this is the truth about our soul… who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable.”
Virginia Woolf, ‘Mrs Dalloway’

I scan those blue-green eyes,
Oceans of stony adamance
And wonder how
You dare to act so calm.
Easier to wash the guilt
And cleanse the wound I’m sure,
Devoid of any depth.

From the steely surface
Comes scalding that dismissive glance
I know so well.
Burnt flesh peels raw –
Easy to be red skinned,
Red rimmed around you.

To cool the burn and justify the pain
I squint below the meniscus, where
Fish dart open-mouthed and gaping.
The water warps their lost words,
And the pearls you promised me
Remain hidden.