Do you remember? Remember, the time we went to the
moor? Barefoot round a turning in the path— in the
darkness an unexpected scent touched us, of honey,
heather and gorse bush which seems to be embroidered
into the very landscape.
Tell me how do you feel? Sleeplessness unveiling itself from
the bitter blue sky; if only we could paint choices on its walls
wouldn’t need to then endure all that follows. I am slightly
damp, for romance of melancholy found within the classics
refuse to leave me; is this what it means to be an old soul?
We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope
of time, mortality, my dear, is a flavor long attached with the
moors. And I wonder if expansiveness, if mere concept that
tugs needs to be explored more often? Do we cry or rest?
Photo credits: Mira Nedyalkova, Stockholm Syndrome
Kim hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from “Hummingbird,” by D.H. Lawrence 💝
Posted for Prosery Monday: Telescope of Time @ dVerse Poets Pub