The cold night
brings pulsating pain, spasms, splinter seams allowing in light.
to the problem of pain lies
deep down in dark depths of her.
She looks out
through grey-green, glittering, glass,
lips move but no words, no shout.
** This is a new (to me) short form. It is Irish in origin. I have added a “how to write a Treochair poem page” if you fancy a go. Carolyn 💜**