#2,441 Gevaldig

Those invigorating infections
off ancient Weald woodlands
dig into rot of thrills
with words not heels] –
I walk
my dog enough on that route
to steer my soles off dangers –
roots & muddy crossings –
my steps count
[stride length
too] –
I hover above mulches –
I levitate as if a sprung ghost –
as if an unencrypted soul –
[yet] quit
[but one day I’ll
give in] –
I greet those people –
auld neighbours from before
my divorce –
I unload –
of words
[in these woodlands
I am less Green Man –
my deaths in my forest] –
their instruction –
but un-said
by either –
that awkwardness
is our cross-infection –
a virus
spread by gossiping intrigues
without a jab –
jabs of glum sex
in any woman’s too sad story