Touched by the Green Knight’s holly axe.
“Same old same old?”
“Yeah I know, tragic isn’t it?”
Now transformed into a tiny wren
- The King Of All Birds
only later -
On creaking growing shoulders
willingly stooping through the gateway
on the other-side
in the otherworld
There stands the impenetrable blackened trees The Forest of Self-Doubt
Rearing up suddenly from up here they are as clover.
Striding together towards The Great Ocean of Drowning Indecision
shrinking to a tiny shiny puddle
Heading for The Great Mountains of Unworthiness they become as dust to his ever increasing size.
Striding out now
arriving at the farthest reaches of the cosmos
in frustration he lets out a great thunderous roar which echoes throughout eternity.
Quietly slipping off his shoulder now
going where even he cannot
through The Immensity of Darkness
flitting in and out of hedgerow whose light
dark shaded face-fence bounds the allotment.
At home here returning to scale and size
a momentary truce is declared
and peacefully the web holds its breath
sensing a tear in the fabric.
The trees cough apologetically
awaiting my return.
Back at the doorway soon enough
finding a gift
a trug of harvest vegetables
tied to it with threads of brightness
allotment gate key.
leaving the doorway
moving to another future
whistling (you remember whistling)
whistling to the dark.