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.

turned,

and walked home again.

sbm.