Poem – Lost Hours

I found the place where we lost our hours,

abandoning grace in the sheer damp of the forest.

Walking for miles, familiarity shrouded itself in gold leaves

and swept up my footsteps.

 

Places like this convince you

that stories are carried page by page.

Invariably, they’ll flow when you aren’t watching.

 

The scrapes on our knees were compared then,

as boastful adventures found etched into skin.

Little branches – never veins. We were crude and brave.

At times I had to force the invulnerability.

 

We thought ourselves so powerful,

but fearfulness declared war

on the freezing river, for biting our ankles.

 

Now we’re beyond a peace treaty.

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