Cloud came no closer than that,
but I tried.
Emboldened and primate I tried.
Scurried up the elm to bring night closer.
But the limbs got thinner,
thinner there and sapling.
Shit, the stars are wounds,
and the moon’s a gaping.
And what swoons below
is a lark, a laugh and a flaking,
like skin ripped in endeavor,
like skin that is ripped with want,
ripped with gravity, like fingers,
pale with just hanging on
as the growing tip breaks
and falls into magma.
Image: Ben Turnbull on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
The first few lines have me thinking about ancient man building structures to get closer to their Gods, only to fail and often clamber to their own extinction. A very vivid and colourful piece of writing Devon. I guess gravity gets us all pal. Hope all is well in the New World.
Thank you, David, as that is precisely what I was going for. I was listening to an interview with Robert MacFarlane this morning on my way to work, regarding his new book, “The Underlands”, and he was talking about just that, but also how these same ancients would descend into very dark places and spit red ochre around their hands on rocks. And he spoke about how we can see billions of years by simply looking up, but looking down, we can only see the crust on which we tread. And all is very well here. I wish the same for you. D