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