<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Glass Between<\/strong><\/p>\n I see the moon hanging like an old dog tag in the sky <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ilse Pedler<\/strong> lives and works full time as a veterinary surgeon in Saffron Walden. She has had poems published in Poetry News, 14 magazine and Prole and writes in the car inbetween visits or in the half an hour in bed before falling asleep.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Glass Between I see the moon hanging like an old dog tag in the sky and I hear the owl send out its two notes searching. I know all that I see and all my knowing is transparent. Looking inwards is living only half a life. I frame the some view, a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2846","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2846","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2846"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2846\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2849,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2846\/revisions\/2849"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2846"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2846"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2846"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand I hear the owl send out its two notes searching. I
\nknow all that I see and all my knowing is transparent.
\nLooking inwards is living only half a life. I frame the
\nsome view, a bedroom scene, a brittle theatre of tears,
\nsleep, \u00a0surrender. I specialise only in beginnings and
\nendings, An empty wine bottle and two glasses, black
\ntights hanging in shreds from a top drawer. I have no
\ntime to reflect on the eddy and flare spilled out by her
\ndress before she blinks out of view. She can blind me.
\nConversations disappear around doorframes. I try out
\ngifts of sunbeams but when she touches me she starts
\nback at the splintering cold. All I can offer is soda ash
\nsilica and limestone. I watch as the first streaks of sun
\nfenestrate the sky and I see a woodpecker stitching the
\nlawn in search of worms. I might amuse myself today
\nby splitting light or if I feel inclined I may focus a fire.<\/p>\n