Through Flooded Woods

I stand alone in a hollow field
with nothing but a handful of memory for company

It is dusk here
The birds have all flown off
       to better, silent futures

But for me there is no escape – no wings
Four blank walls of heavy air close around me like snowdrifts

How do you know
       when to pull the bodies out of the water?
How do you know how – 
       how do you know what to do?

Maybe it’s human instinct

       Maybe it’s the fact you can’t help wondering
              if it was you instead
                     drowning
              and four blank seawalls closing in like an empty dusk

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