I'm a fragile eco system
built of bird spit and star dust
delicate electro wires frizle with
each impulse out from the darkness.
I've come tilted and un managed
my pools over running and building
bogs where once were tender footpaths
and leaving the other dry, parched,
leeched away so that even the water
unexpected afore death leaves no
jolt but cognition. Thoughts a reflex
now where once white hot lightening
arched from pool to pool, foot press
to foot press, alight with hope.
I've found these paths abandoned
an old bower's nest strangely preserved
through time, as the rot seeps up
from the ground and reclaims
the supports keeping up the
expectant hoardings twinkling
as the light reaches a final
gloaming over the ruined land.