The Hut (edit 1)

At some stage we must leave the hut,

pull closed the dusty curtains, hide the rattling keys,
leave its well-worn sounds —rain falling

on the tin roof; in the wind, the planted tree’s limbs

brushing like memories, across paned glass;

the rattling of the front door as if a guest has arrived—leave

them all at some stage —or if not; if we stay,
grow old and time-succumb —breath falling away

in leaves as brittle as Time’s footprints - even then
we must leave or if not stay and, as a counterweight,

those who come after us will retch at the stench

and turn away; close the door and wander far into the reaches
we feared to search so that our decision to stay moves
our beloved ever further away from whatever fear held us.

So it is that at some stage we must leave

the hut, and in our fullness, head out

into the emptiness of unknowing and unfamiliar —

journey towards a future as distant from that hut

as Time’s multitude of stealing kisses can take us.