Poem 2,184

Exile Nothing

by Mike Bell 28 September 2021

We must first agree to exile nothing – I find myself all alone under ancient

remnants of scaling canopies [dumb among oaks which enfold thickness –

a century in a grasp] – I’m not myself as I travel among trapped shadows –

Underfoot that stick-snap will alarm nature’s easily-frightened [I’m not of

that species – not any more] – A hum – this woodland reverbs – timbres – as

I press upon pressure-put-on paths – I’m alone & ready to be brutalised if

I meet my own face in these woods – This time-slow-mass grinds under its

growth – I lay on mulch & crawl as if a fungal proliferation – a damp skin – in

shade I bloom as a capped threat as I burrow between established roots – a

shadow of myself by moon-dousings – As my auld self rouses my corse – My

voice is lost as I dig deeper among it all – giving up nothing to sow myself

wide below a wild festoon of buds & beams [I’ll stay low in Lincoln green]