Under my cloak I wear a dress;
under my dress I wear a slip;
under my slip I wear my tights;
under my tights I bare my skin.

Under my skin I keep my blood;
under my blood I keep my pulse;
under my pulse I keep my breath;
under my breath I bear my pain.

Under my pain I wear a cloak
lined with exclusive paper skin;
under these lines is the only way
for sage redress, for the journey in.

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.

This poem was originally published in The Dark Horse

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