One foot follows concrete ground
and the other
on cracks where weeds push up and up
we dig deeper into clay and crumb
to seek answers; to not succumb

and when a silent spell enchants our words,
that float on wire as cormorants at hollow,
I cannot see past gritted teeth
and days grow tall as they grow wide
leaving space for cogitation
to run for miles
until it tires and turns to marsh
soaked
in watery sun