I could exhaust many a thing
the stinging, pelts of rain
the ferreted holes to the world below
strident waters, black and deeper than thought
matter deliberately flung to the ground
yet, cannot be sought.
Diminished is my way when I am not free to walk.
In transient, stillness down a one way path, I find myself unable to look back.
I could exhaust many a thing
never to repeat all that is scattered behind me.
