as if I’ve arrived in the artic
as the sun bids adieu
for six months
as if a fog creeps over the city
enveloping structure and people
and won’t leave
as if Sol chose to set, find another
place, happier, more content, a less
overcast, locale
as if a crowd formed around me and
I cannot speak, hear, then they turned
into bars of a prison
as if a deep ache sought me out
razed me to the earth, till only
ashes remain
as if the ground around me fall
my roots wither, wane to a
barren trunk
as if the light at the end of the
tunnel is not there as I’m in
a cave
as if
photo and poem © DC Lessoway
in thought, in coveting