Stagger, sway only into the last haul.
Jagged feet of my own that realize
such a haunting dread of displacement.
The self subsumed by currents, by the Bleak.
A path through the dense green thickness
and now an opening with branches like tendrils
tendons tickling scraping the face gently.
This, the first limping leg of the journey.
And then, a gap, the pouring mist
comforting and painful, swaying between the two
Must seek some shelter, but the green now overgrown
sticks the side with a glint of anticipation.
The first to get soiled are the feet, damp feet, earthy.
At last, the residence in its wholeness, yet the front visible
wet wood alive absorbing the pouring mist.
Laughter from the inside of the mouth (or is it a cry).
It is difficult to decipher.
The coded speech, the crackling glimmer of a smile, breaking and forming.
He stumbles now, bumping into things and trees overwhelmed by the forgotten Bleak.
Reels akimbo and slips into the overgrowth, its green mushiness comforts him.
But, he has yet to reach the house, is it a house? Stands. Limps.
This time it is his right leg, no knee, which cracks whenever he steps, so he drags.
The door is close and the porch, of course, screeches as he applies pressure.
Wet foot cracking knee slip and he recklessly smacks the wooden floor,
a tooth loose upon impact.
The door, a handle? No handle, of course it is an extension of the wall. Mirages appear
from time to time, this time now a door and then a porch. Still, this must be the second
leg of the journey, the limping creaking snapping whining journey.
He manages up a bit, a wheeze. His long gray hair frazzled now, matted oddly damp.
This is the rain soaked paradise, a house, the house
he knows and has seen this residence. Turning head and
glancing slowly back, a slight prickling pain in his side sees
the yard, the overgrown green and across the wet bleak firmament,
another residence, sparkling wood damp…all that dampness.