Exile Nothing
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]