In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk




I remember how I sat, even. Bunched.

There was nothing to hold on to

except my own flesh and the strong

bones inside. I’d never been

conscious of my bones before

(except when I broke them).

Everything in my world around

was either in shreds

or seeking to shred me.

And he said, since there is plainly

nothing you can do

and no solutions you can conjure up

you have to let go of such useless

questions as

what am I to do ?

what rune can I intone

to raise this vast portcullis  ?

Just sit back.

Breathe in. Then out.

Ready yourself

for opportune events.

There’s nothing better.

There’s nothing else.



I discover my bones only when I break them

or when they clench together and scratch

along each other’s surfaces. I’m told that stress

sometimes makes them act that way.

And then the whole body catches fire

and you cannot see the world any more –

just your own flames all round. I met a wall once

with my left foot held to the fore. Afterwards I noticed it

dangling and I shrieked and then someone in white

used the word “reconstruction” and squared his shoulders.

Later he said, you now have quite a lot of

refined steel inside you, along with nails and screws.

You won’t usually notice them except

when sometimes, usually in January,

the weather turns especially cold.

I am old I am old

the rivets in my flesh grow cold.


Rogan Wolf January/February 2017