Unaltared

I. this truth is a tripwire I stumble over on my merry way to somewhere else and as I lift my face again in the directionless dark I become small i. but someone once told me that trees draw lightning to themselves branches curled to the moon like lunging fingers sent out in a pillar of fire while the rain falls in curtains through the inky night and the squelching mud we wade like Israelites leaving our possessions to follow / barely cognisant of the sacrifice made II. unaltared

still grotesque

but growing day by day

and stronger two

than one