Mumble Mire

But outside the lifestyle was a memory,
Haunting like a black eye on your mother.

It lasted longer than the tree line,
Which fell as the air got thicker.
Tumbling into soft thief knots
Once the giants drew their curtains
And the guardians awoke.

Footfalls, sidesteps, crept iron gates,
A forgetful onion’s only escape.
From a frigid dawn behind the ash,
Grey twigs shade better than a looking glass.

Where the bramble hatch drips
And the stairwells swelter,
Unwrap what you cherish from those
Ear-raped-a-ringed thrushes.

For they were no one,
And no one made it
It was just there,
Un-escaped.
Like a sawn off tree trunk
Sprouting the maggots of the enemy.