my exhaustion runs soul-deep,
‘soul-thick’ like I wrote a week ago
and I am wading through a water marsh
with each clogged and futile throe

the sky was ridged today
like sheets, still unmade
and I felt as though my heart was full of reeds
as i lay beneath its winding brigade

and in every niche of the sea-aged mountains
I saw poems and faceless sprites
and the soul-thick dropped from me
as the first winds took flight.
© C.S.G.