“The Wood”
He left on a Wednesday
Half of our lives, the best of mine, suddenly ash
I had carried my anger for some time
I had been settled, ready
He had stepped back, hopelessly dreaming
of taking flight among the tree tops, bursting
through the white clouds to climb aboard his Jolly Roger
Something snapped
All was divided, bitter and common
The clouds would soon break
Leaving only a soggy and crow-filled wood