There is this sort of provisional
In accepting the terms
“You Survived!”
Is a fortunate blessing to hear.

I still remember the dream.
Every night tossing and turning.
Iron-smell as if my toes were still on the block of rough stainless.
Streaming through the winds as the chalice lights and torches
And the undignified stream through the woods

Ready to bear arms at site of distress.
Got trapped in the boundryline and where
Crocodiles from Morocco rest.
Apparently; this causes Angry-Trespassers.

Storming into the field and all the jute had blaised in ribbon-effect.
They trapped themselves storming through fire and stopped crawling 60 feet in with 14,000 more to go.
It’s supposed to feel safe at that distance but closer to the mountain than the sea.
Caused one of the first-primordial feelings of anxiety in me.
Tall and gowned waiting for my demise.
All alone and the men went hunting.

Cap-over-bonnet
And the ligature on my wrists still seem to be present in this life
Two-amoebas in birthmarks on my right-hand remind me so.
Lifted in the air.
And soon I was disrobed.
Unsure, unalighted.
Unaligned, I’m going to be mited.
Left out here to decay in this trap.
And 3rd Round lit their beacon after another hostileein
Drove up campus the backway.
400ft of Time; I can get there in less than 20.
And now I’m here.
Given up.

Familiar hands around my eyes,
And I know those callouses.
I think of that sauve-minty scent,
Every time.
Even-then, and the rope lifted.
And I was guise in Canopy.
A big Loft for gathering, and attached door,
And my own bungalow with a walkway and mailbox for anyone to say Hi.

The shoes weren’t even pelt-folds yet.
Just Italian-Leather.