Cloying is what it is

like the air is sugar water

thick and sweet and hazy

and with every breath I’m choking on it

There might have been a path here once

but probably not

or it decayed with memories of that first rain

the forest bowed under its weight

Not an easy welcome to forget

sugar-spun daggers hung from all the branches

growing longer as the downpour drowned the world

prisms full of lightning I watched

and waited for the first one to fall

thinking maybe it would point me the right way

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Photo by Dobromir Hristov from Pexels