Whose words are these that stumbled
out between lips once secure?
Never before, and nevermore, was I a fool
for clever lines strung clumsily and unsure.
And now, in woods, with words
I walk alone observing things more pure;
fingertips tracing the curve of limbs,
the dirt beneath my feet beginning to lure
a visage ignored- complacently retraced
on to my face. To the caves, obscure,
from whence I came, I return. Steady
now is the wildness retched forth premature.
Lurking slyly in sheltered safety,
No longer will You me procure.