Collapit

 

Rabbit holes, narrow as a beggar’s luck

can be deceiving

dangerous to both life and limb.

In the winter they are bare,

tight drainpipes with ragged stone-clad walls

that whisper in a local tongue,

and run red wet

with the skin of travellers’ past.

Summer, in full camouflage

they conspire and constrict 

with hungry ivy lichen tendrils

that feign soft welcome,

to lure the hapless foreigner, with

tangling–aged signposts

 that addle and beguile,

never to be seen again.

 

 

 

© Graham Sherwood 07/2017