on occasions we go further than we did before.
the patch of dark is from the trees, a marking
place. the field of bells beyond. we have not
walked there since her mother died. we can
hear the people talk up on the precipice, look
they move slowly.
two are wearing orange, i think that they cannot see me.
i often say we, as if there are two of me. we stood
in the darker place.
and walked home again.