a found poem
we are wet
the woods thicken
it's getting darker
little muddy paths
lead off to the left
into the woods
until you can't see
them anymore
where to?
we climb.
this is never going to end.
and then suddenly
like a bolt of lightening
nothing happens
but then truly
absolutely nothing
everything
goes on doing
what
it's always done
Found in Tim Krabbe's The Rider
