The Heavy, The Light

When the stick of the day spreads around you like
that old quilt, the batting spilling out and over,
falling through the air, surrendering to the weight of the world;

I am dragging my feet through the slosh of a jungled place
a sometimes-alive and mythical,
dark and growling,
shadowed, tangled, somewhere
My breaths are deep and fruitless
a forced inhale and haggard exhale—
shabby, tired, breaking

something about this is just like the last

when we were suspended above it all,
the pinpoints of trees dotted at our feet
we were weightless and laughing,
always laughing,
our voices flitting about the sky and
echoing forward into our sun-striped future but

then the storm came,
and the branches bent beneath it all,
the trees crashed the mess of it
hulking giants tripping bloody on the floor of the world
and the stars got punched out,
until we were smattered in this darkness

up close, it's all charred and broken
it's all hard to carry
it's all sinking slowly

it's just like the last
it's always too heavy
and only here
are my arms too frail
too weak
to carry
the things that we left