marching on

There were things we couldn't see
So we carried on
Hauling all we had like century old tortoises
Our backs curving,
Away from openness.

The wind carried our scent for miles
Across tips of trees
Through dirty window panes
And abandoned shadows where wispy cobwebs lay.

So quiet we had become,
Grasping at wishes
Spending all the days peering through a peephole

To That One Thing

Eclipsing all others, because
Perhaps they were:

Slightly bulky
Minutely wrong
Grandly imperfect.

The GOOD-STUFF we lost
Looking away

weighs more
than I can measure.