That chill breath from
the branches to my flesh
Shook me like a eulogy
and it resonates in me
like an old home
collapsing
I've seen what we can be
reduced to
Not speaking
Not looking
Not breathing
with purpose
Have you seen what
the rain washes
away?
That thin veneer of
hope and habit is
what keeps me coming
back, and
I'm not so sure
I want to live like
this anymore
What I'm looking for
is that sense of placement
that endurance
that pristine conscience
But we keep the grass short
because the snakes like it
tall.