it is as if there is flint

or a small piece of basalt

worrying inside my shoe

chiselled and unrepentant

as i walk towards you

the ground softens, gives up

a whole armoury

skirting surrender

we ravel threads

murmur petroglyphs

this path leads nowhere

but forgiveness

we navigate aisles

hiding and seeking

world receding

bodies moving in harmony

later, underneath leaves

and crescent moon

we speak

between feels just a micron thick

i think of bluebell days

traipsing through bracken

humming wordlessly

wood's gentle melody

weight and lightness

warmth and cold

loam underneath us

pleiades above us

your chin nestles

like robin's egg

balancing in branches cleft

i see now you never left

how tender and perilous.


- Esme Alder