Moving to witness more than myself,
to track some other tale,
Leading this frozen ego
through leaves stained with mud,
and sodden grasses.
Walking pain pressed on my shoulder,
back, on top a coat fit,
for someone I refuse to part.
Travelling parallel to passengers
quicker than flies to my body,
this sun switched to winter.
Passing piles of rotting apples, pears,
my field of vision disappearing
a land fruitful, forgetful.
David A. Church