From the White

I fell.
I stumbled from the white.
I didn't even try to find my feet.
The air was miles deep.

I spread apart the grey,
A curtain hanging
From the crooked forest limbs.
The darkest fellow watches
Curious before,
Behind.
It might turn out a cat.
It might just be a crow.
I am not sure.

Every burial is not a resurrection.
Salvation will eventually
No longer seek us out,
Exhausted,
Tired of we walkers of the soil.
You are past my touch,
My sight,
But my mind won't let you go,

My sin,
My mortal end.

- 2/4/25

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