linger longer when the sun is hidden, the
Threat of possible snowsleethail
If the air gets any colder,
I’ll be shivering but now I am on the boarder.
The overcast day seems to encourage me
To bury myself here by the riverside, off the trail where people pass by,
Ignorant of my thoughts flowing up, raking the surface of the sky trying to expand.
Encourages me to wonder in the ruins of this old mill
Where too perfect stones are scattered by years of neglect, into the river,
Submerged and causing ripples.
Vines that once choked too-small trees
Now sink into what will soon be mud
Fresh, vibrant.
And I don’t mind the smell of pre-Spring
As these thick snakes twist and twine
And mingle, catching at my hair with harsh bark and trapping bits
Of me in this place that will linger when I am gone.
I swear I hear voices, hissing as the wind weaves through
Pricker and vine and dead bush.
I hear voices somewhere.