Still Life

On the mantelpiece

There's a scrap of leather

Like a half remembered truth

Or lie

And there's a photograph

Of a sunlit garden

And a sword that seemed to burn

With light

The way

Is closed now

And I can't go home

The way

Is closed now

And I can't go home

Near the fireplace

Black with soot and sorrow

And the absence of synecdoche

There's a whetted axe

With a weathered handle

And the weight of it is dear

To me

The way

Is closed now

And I can't go home

The way

Is closed now

And I can't go home

But what if I

What if I just let go?

If I just let go