The weight on our shoulders

Is not a burden to bear.

It is unexpected in so many ways, yet

there was never a chance for us to avoid it:

the path seeming tangent but twisting and connecting just in time.

Train tracks flipped by a single switch

that altered the course of everything.

Solid ground to stand on, legs strengthened by hours walking

and arms willing to hold no matter the babble.

Forging days into weeks,

this is how it has been.

Outside, they do not see it. Outside, they see haste.

But those eyes are untrained in our ways

to warp

that mysterious river

simply by welcoming it with open hearts.

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Faces in places

Faces glance down on us when we’re not looking.

Knotted mouths with noses in the air, hands

above their heads, pointing, staring,

laughing at how small we are

compared to their lengthy limbs

that could scoop us up if they could move at all.

The ivy beards cover their mouths,

fungi hiding their tears of mirth.

 

Why?

Woolens warming withered wrists.

Words written with weeds

while weighing Winter,

wary walks when weathered

worlds wonder whose war will win.

Windows washed, wherever

wishes whisper. Walls wrinkle,

wayward white wings.

 

Water vapour, as I see it

The mist drifts in

across the moor.

A natural occurrence,

yet to those there to witness,

its creeping hands form

a heavy stone, which

though small, gives

a sudden punch

to the chest.

Tales long thought to be forgotten

come unbidden

to the mind,

whispers

of eyes and teeth

and a cold breath upon the neck.

But they are only whispers.

Told to steal the knotted wrap

from your warm,

foetal body.