breadcrumbs

Unburdened by the weight of words, we carry a hard fall as we write our way out of the covenant of flesh to go ghosting off into untold tomorrows. The sentences we settle the sentences we serve, disembodied and in exact. Hopeful and grasping and every bit a construct. The parings left from such unruly vines. The strange and facile artifact of symbols strung on lightning. A coatrack full of borrowed garments and empty gestures.

This is our faith. Straw dry words left in the woods. Breadcrumbs left for the bugs and birds. Following the pointer finger. This constant litany of let’s sees. The deep night around the fire. This self proclaimed in plural.

Hash marks and hieroglyphs. This stippled semaphore. Alone with our urgencies and appetites, we work the telegraph, we sweat the bellows. Remaindered and left to hold our posts, here in this furthest station of the remedy. Waiting out forever at the tip of a stranger’s tongue. Unspoken and misunderstood. A light left on somewhere.