And the fallen

dredge in mud
knee deep
but sky high

trudge the sludge
plod the crud
and form tracks

nearly sighted
look far
to reach

growth will follow

when you guide me gently

I will not go
softly leaving the fallen and broach upon your sight;

I will not shiver
coldly waking at the gathering of a nihilating night;

I will not reason
lightly speaking your name and numbered days;

I choose the wily river
to bend and straighten the sounds
of your longing breaths
and ease the burden
given by each willful caress.