Post #2,814 | Always [those] hours

Always
[those]
hours as weights
in my coat –
pockets filled by my
choice of dry stones –
under my
step a sunk route
[laid by others
crossing fast water] –
uneven as
I go deeper –
Cross where other
people do –
herded by our ways
through hazards –
My stones sit
low
[clack again when knocked]
& weigh my coat down as if I am
shoving my fists deep –
Now my
choice to turn mid-stream & fall
into deep water
[I am rushed at
by that urge from up-river] –
As
my wet legs stiffen I may take a
one-last step from this ford –
my crossing point
[& I will fall away]