A multitude of sins

 multifarious and too late despairs

fanning behind our current path.

The way ahead

is hinted at

but these seeds scattered

behind us

form a clearly visible backwards trail.

This trail,

it marks our progress,

you can follow it

some many meandering miles.

Lately,

these days,

I find myself hoping that

perhaps,

by dawn,

the sharp beaked birds will have pecked

up every last crumb,

every last seed

leading back,

 blanking

 bleaking

losing the way for us.

Some days,

these days,

i would not grieve if we

never

found our way back

to

these places.

i would not grieve if we

chose to just

lie down in the leaves

at the side of the road

and go to sleep.

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