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
amberrwalker 