Everything Vanishes

Everything vanishes; the many tongued silence remains

caught in the blackbark trees

and the shadowed indifferent ground

knotted and furrowed by shouldered roots

shrugs and seethes darkly into the tolling forest

beneath its mossbright skin.


I move with picklock ambition

poised over runic tracks drifted with days

and a sudden listening pause, searching

corner-eyed the stitch-lipped forest for a sign

of recognition, but my tiptoe toil sends only a warning

of birds, fishflashing into the sky


~ by Mark Neal on October 26, 2008.

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