I am a whirlpool inside this skin organ.
I must contain the water inside.
I can’t alarm anyone around me
that my water is about to burst
through the paper skin.
I must not spill a drop,
Nor let the people see the same
whirlpool inside my eyes.
I must be the dam that never opens,
the water-tight door, the seal to harness
such a storm, to stop the havoc.
Britain smells of damp grass –
the trees near Preston are heavy
with something ancient and stifled.
It is the smell and weight on the eyes
that gives the game away.