Left like cut-off kites, in ground surrounded swirls of blooded barb wire endings.
|I.||From blue gum heat to|
sea of ice-ground graves: wash’d souls
left in furrowed holes
|II.||Frayed at the edges.|
Aimed, framed at the heart, from
the start, to grave’s end.
|III.||KnitArt or WordArt?|
What came first? The knitting or
the verse? Do we care?