poetry by j matthew waters

winter wormhole

my game was good enough
to keep out of the marsh
giving myself [at least] a chance
to shine on a steely day

I ventured into the forest
[perhaps for the last time]
knowing full well
some singletrack trails
have no end

voices along the way
whisper & shout [on occasion]
interested in body language
and how it might translate
once leaving itself

november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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