but not quite. "Limb" and "hair" have utterly different functions and textures, almost as different as those of the oak dresser and the fragile, crooked-legged insect. And only one of the couple is peacefully asleep. The other is awake, and observing--eternally vigilant, as the writer has to be, looking in, looking out, trying to name the world and make sense without loss of mystery. The unnameable is present in the poem, too.[by Naomi Foyle]
Your Summer Arm
from Carol Rumens: The Guardian: Books blog: Poem of the week: Your Summer Arm
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