Dry Wood

Witless, winding through a frosty

Forest, my way, suddenly, blocked by a pair

Of wooden slippers, sodden

Through the cool morning rain

Side by side they stood, alien, belonging

Not here

Surely better found beneath

The fleshy folds of a

Soft duvet, slid back by warm tender toes

Not shaken from slumber and

Forsaking surety, transported to this copse

Wretched orphans wrapped in a

Nightmare, pursuing the cradle

Intrigued I sought a narrative

Worthy of such baseless abandonment;

A supremely subtle but unfathomable

Denouement

A justification or conspiracy that

Could entrap these innocents  

Were those fleece-lined cross bands where feet

Once slept, snug and safe,

Soiled by rancorous tears?

What empty soul swaddled in

Loss, reflected here,

Prepared for eternity but

Discovered instead, a magical doorway

Beckoning them hither, offering

A kinder escape    

From bitterness to light? 

But sadly I saw no Tardis  

No DeLorean, nor even a

Stargate.

Their untold history was and

Still remains simply beyond my ken…

Beyond my ken