Day 344

Treasure

December.
Rigid humidity.
Taut webs.
The bodies
Nowhere to be found.
No eight-limbed skeletons.

The dark paths.
Raw swamps
Of unborn snow.
Cracked sculptures
In white and edges.
Finality.

Unseen voices.
The chase.
Dense breath
Under listless branches.
The fall. Quarry
In a broken pose.

Bruised earth.
A canon of death.
A collection of
Loose bones.
A rattle of knuckles,
Tibias and ribs.

Treasure trove.
Garland and box.
Hollow lid and clasp.
Unbent fractures.
Slow doom fog
On crooked shapes.

R, 10/12/2022, 19:53