Late hours roll in sooty & untenanted
the ghosts gone wandering Woe's plateau
feels plain like no terrain at all
From somewhere beyond the reach of this pale lamp
a pack stirs hunched & rangy an evolving promise
not to spring Do you recall the dark
-knotted trees we saw across the river's broad waist?
How they held a number of things
we made no sense of until they fled
gray bodies spanning several feet once unfolded
each neck an arrow pointing resolutely away
Will we find them again if we follow?
They say one's grave is the simplest place
to find You just look down