wilderness kills
They speak again of cool gardens,
of melons split wide,
of leeks softening in a pot
that never hurried.
We hear it,
but the day’s work won’t pause
for old flavours.
The path ahead is dry,
the load uneven,
yet it’s ours to carry.
We steady the camp,
set the pace,
keep the bowls filled—
not with what they crave,
but with what will hold them
through another stretch of light.
Poetry by anonface
Written on 2026-03-23 at 07:40
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