Sorrow

surely

you are a word

lost in time

a woman locked in a room

who turning stiffly

finds no lyric, no door

sorrow surely you are not a word

and time with her purple iris has no surfeit

just then, the marbled summoning feeling

of returning

that same arabesque aching wave

bowling you over

to rise and inhale

only to be beneath water again …

no words

no air, movement’s weighted suspension

tired by language, tred softly darkling

your pruce slippers full of burrs

careful to hide the carpeted wild in your step

chastening scold of starch, iron and safety kept

once they gave you a medicine for fools

said it tames the gold right outta feral children

our stained tongues tasting bitter herb of time

and salty footed we run clasped in each other’s torment

till road ran out and there was only ever stretching endless

the solace and meditation of forest.

(for R.M.W. my forest sister evermore) 💜