34 Edges Redux Darkness to light— a deceptive tranquility. Baring my soul I arrive to a different edge— no need for a complete rebirth not yet anyhow. Yours is an old place airy-green and gale-cold teeming with even older memories. The echoed cries from yesteryear of that Midland Wonder I hear an ocean away in my seemingly safe Midland Street built on granite where in my maddening mood semi-tamed I dream— nothing is defined all is limpid fluidity—a treacherous mirror into life’s whispered breath crisp-edged frost here and there that’s all— The horizon is blurred now and us still on a narrow ledge.
Sylva Boyadjian-Haddad