Heavy booted, trudging through thick clarts,
He bends against the weight of every step
Watching, concerned, each thick churned rut
The slime of thick feet heavily slow, unsure.
The onward path deepens
Held in sycamore’s swift growing arms
An arc of afternoon denying caresses.
The silence here’s as thick as the mud
As he reaches the path’s forked foot
Pausing momentarily to heft his baggage
Glancing back to the void of his descent
Before turning feet against the slippery clag
Reaching for thick bank jutting roots,
Rough gnarled and moist against reaching hands,
Holding sliding hob-nailed boots firm.
Bowed in the thick green twilight
The weight of wet clay claws at his legs
Ascent slow against the downward drag
He will reach the pasture before dusk.
Kisses of Yesterday 