the difference between the cool jade of forest leaves and
the warm odour of sun melting sleeves, socks and boots.
the ground stings
with over-heated grass.
we can only stretch eyes this far,
attain some luck in stumbling, or succumbing
to the rising spells of emerald heat.
and there is fear of sundown...
our dreams morph
into sharpened ferns, chanting fields and
a moss of creatures creeping
to make sick these fantasies whispered
on our congealed beds of sweat raw chlorophyll...
the tale of the dead soldier lying beyond the night marsh -
he waits to join us again,
complete his final march.
* * * *** ***
my buddy treks behind me.
the day will not make him disappear.
his wet pores and clenched fists
secrete a secret will
to drag our bodies forth
to base camp.
never to arrive,
our desires liquify, blessing the ground
of our sacrifice.
picture courtesy of xiangxuan's account of ocs in facebook
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