Wayfarers

Knox Through The Haze

Through the sudden cold, the trembling,

the sick, the haze, every neuron

in my brain howling in protest

at my breaking, I hear her speak

her name: Sylvie. Like sylvan,

a spirit of the woods. The name suits her

but I can’t help thinking she might

have been a bit more careful

with her rock placement while spiriting

around in the woods and also that I

would have loved getting to know her

under slightly better circumstances

and at this I smile to commit my mouth

to a course more dignified

than wailing in agony.