They sit together
alone
those paths well
trod
now worn dry
those things they found
familiar released
an ascending weight
inverting the grave
tipping out
old cloth
a dry leaf still holding
fast
ignoring the fateĀ
of the tree

Nicholas Alexander's Poetry
They sit together
alone
those paths well
trod
now worn dry
those things they found
familiar released
an ascending weight
inverting the grave
tipping out
old cloth
a dry leaf still holding
fast