This is how bone appears:
Stripped of the superstructures of flesh.
All light is unseen until some substance
Throws it back into our faces.
Some light, even in reflection,
Passes through us.
The eye and its mind are ignorant.
Small mutations of energy
Change the nature of being
While immutable bone creaks
Under the weight of the living.
Why should we look, as we do,
Through what shape we possess,
Into its scaffolding of support;
Or even, between, into pulsing organs
Which have no words for us?
Soul and spirit are another light,
Energy on the spectrum somewhere,
Reflected or refracted just the same
By what we believe to be real.
The mind and its eyes are ignorant.
The invisible shapes the visible:
Other energies warp around us
And show us the bones of the world,
The ligatures of earth and heaven.
But blood, like light, is shed. Our wounds picked over,
We tear ourselves apart to look beneath the skin.
Brian Hill is designer and filmmaker living in the wilds of Moray. He was, and still is, a founder member of Brian and the Brains and has also been known as the rhyme-slinger, Hilly cunctator, the cartoon cowboy, and latterly the planetarium poet. In between he has teased a living in the voluntary sector, designed for money and made tiny movies. He did have something published once and has written (and performed) many poems on astronomy, the cosmos and our heathen past, usually in complete darkness. His last public work was a voice over and short poem for Gill Russell’s Long Wave installation at the Clan Donald Centre in Skye, late 2010.
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