Just wanted to sit for a while, watch the clouds
the door cuddling up to me in the wind, touching and support my left arm
slice of light marshmallowed by clouds
the dot to dots of a shallow of birds, starlings, sparrows, too far away to see
too cold to leave the body
toes warm in socks, backs of thighs catching the wind, and the round of my shoulderblade has cold holding it, drawing my mind to my body makes it present,
the lingering tension in the stomach,
the held point at the tip of the breastbone
skin of hands and head in the air
the spongy pinkness rises from the winter birches, the colour gloams and holds
the creak of wing and branch
the crucial outline of my body dissolves, easy to leave
glance of hair across my forehead -
I look at the mud at the bottom of my trousers
cartography of moving through mud
might go un noticed if I just flung them in the washing machine
a map's a map, a way in, a way to follow
Forsenic policemen could trace my every move with the earth on the bottom of my boots
a walk traced over and over
Does it go into the bones, the memory, the body, the land
the sky suddenly seems huge
the birch pink deepens and I shiver
