Your footsteps
jar the seismograph pen.
You carry the weight
of your friends’ deaths.
The faerie gate is near.
So is the ferryman with his bony hand.
Your steps cause no real damage
if you let go soon.
You discover
the weight is your pulling down
what would rise toward the heavens
left to its own accord.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 