The Places Between Things

I want to hide in the places between things,

to squash myself softly into the folds of the forest,

feel its hard surety spoon around my body.

 

I want to lose myself

in nooks that nobody knows of –

places that only know of themselves.

 

I want to slip between the ripples of the river,

hug the shadow of a stone,

burrow beneath the armoured skin of a sycamore

and circle my arms around its ancient backbone.

 

I want to be among sure-things,

to be held firmly,

to fit precisely.

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