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1. 

   messed up thought out

   Dec 24, 2025

   The wall runs close on the left,
   stacked slate and granite,
   cock-and-hen stones along the top
   like vertebrae breaking the surface.
   Lichen clings—
   yellow, pale green—
   softening what the weather couldn’t.

   The path is chalk underfoot,
   pale dirt ground thin,
   curving gently away
   until its far end yields to white.
   Each step lifts grit,
   sets it down again.

   To the left, the land gives up.
   No slope, no edge—
   only a dense blank,
   distance collapsed to one dull shade.

   The wall holds its line
   between stone and nothing.

   White blossoms lean from the bramble,
   petals light as breath,
   new against the brown wire
   of last year’s dead growth.
   Their scent barely travels,
   caught in the wet.

   Sound has been pared back to function:
   boots crunch,
   water ticks from unseen leaves,
   and far below,
   a muted, patient roar
   never quite reaches the path.

   Cold settles into the chest.

   Light comes from everywhere at once,
   shadowless, spent.
   The stones stay where they were set.
   The ground offers just enough
   for the next step.

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