My veins run hot; I have my new,
fresh journal. White space crisply cues
my challenge: to evoke, a mage,
what’s hidden in the fibres of the page.
These processed trees become moist soil
whose nutrients will sprout up coil
of letters, fine as silk brocade,
all seeded in the fibres of the page.
Below the surface of each sheet,
within the slender space between
its faces, tender muse is caged;
she’s trapped within the fibres of the page.
And when I flake away the skin
I will embrace the words therein,
immortalised, there freed from age,
exposed from in the fibres of the page.
*A kyrielle is a traditional verse form that originated in France. It uses any number of four-line stanzas; the first three lines are written in iambic tetrameter and the fourth is a refrain as the last line of each stanza which is also iambic but of any length. Because of the disparity between French and English language, Engligh kyrielles tend to use rhyme, as I have done here.
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