What if the round world’s corners could be found
And I could creep into that place to hide
Among the crazy angles up and down
Where earth is made of air and ground is sky-ed.
Or a ravine scoured deep into the rocks
Where contintents’ torn edges touch and meet
below the dripping ferns, safe from the shocks
of love’s old earthquake I’d stand on my feet
I’d furnish that sharp space with rags of grief
and hunker down in tepid pools of tears
and memory, finding this much relief
knowing I would stay buried here for years.
But still the world curves mercilessly round
and every shelter’s bared on open ground.
Today’s prompt was to write a response to the statement: ‘a circle can’t have corners’
I admit to a little help from John Donne.