Blank

Sometimes, it is the lack of feeling which is more telling. The moment, anticipated fully, has finally arrived; the moment you have built yourself up for treads empty. Now and anti-climatic, it is an under-slide of emotion. Perhaps it is best to feel less and not more.

 

Fixed tree,

Blind eye rooted

Under slide shot skipping

Leaves;

Iron cast frost,

Autumnal past

Descended

Into winter’s bowl

Welded in the freeze

The bolted fingers

Hinged closed

Against the cold

Tentatively

The prints start,

Return to edge,

Rebound ankle high in snow,

The message I walked here,

Breathed in my own cloud of sleet,

Prised open the bonds,

And let you go

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Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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