2184: Exile Nothing

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We must first agree to exile nothing –
I find myself all alone under ancient

remnants of scaling canopies [dumb
among oaks which enfold thickness –

a century in a grasp] – I’m not myself
as I travel among trapped shadows –

Underfoot that stick-snap will alarm
nature’s easily-frightened [I’m not of

that species – not any more] – A hum –
this woodland reverbs – timbres – as

I press upon pressure-put-on paths –
I’m alone & ready to be brutalised if

I meet my own face in these woods –
This time-slow-mass grinds under its

growth – I lay on mulch & crawl as if a
fungal proliferation – a damp skin – in

shade I bloom as a capped threat as I
burrow between established roots – a

shadow of myself by moon-dousings –
As my auld self rouses my corse – My

voice is lost as I dig deeper among it
all – giving up nothing to sow myself

wide below a wild festoon of buds &
beams [I’ll stay low in Lincoln green]

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