Hauling my own dead-weight

Over the shoulders of a mountain,

The way back is an illusion,

Slipping out of my grasp

–

One foot before the other

Is the entirety of my world

Here and now

Among these featureless

Hours and days  

–

The quiet realm before the storm

Is full of scripture and phantoms,

The waft of its hymns

Chime softer and softer

–

All I do is wade

And spiral down to the plains,

The frozen nights still wailing

Through the graveyard of the mind