W.R.M.

In the yellow glow of streetlights, I lock up site, gloved hands clumsily rattling the padlock into place.

Drawn to wild water, an escape from the confines of thought.

It’s been a year,
We stand and pray, but the words won’t spill from me,
The grief has leaded my soul, dampening the rise of fealing,
Weighing the pain beneath the surface, leaving hollowness behind.

Beneath the street light we decide that we’re alright,
Its the other fuckers that we have to fight!
We hug and say - alright, but let’s plan that another night!

Through the field and down the lane,

Why would you be inside?
When gnats dance over water,
When the white moon gazes out over the tree tops
When clouds bind the mountain top in peaceful drifts.

Today, we ran in the park, Martha and I.
We faced each other across the grass,