Mountain Bothy

We have forgotten

when exactly it was we found this refuge

and exactly why: what exhaustion

or curiosity led us to try the door handle

on this isolated abandoned dwelling,

fading whitewash on the walls, thatch

gone astray, no electricity,

no running water, no telephone,

but webs and moss and leaks and life

crawling and scuttling and scurrying

where the hand of man cannot reach,

where he has failed to leave anything

but damage and decay,

and when night falls I hold you indefinitely

in a crude bed of ancient wood and black soil

and rough sack and straw, my arms around you,

sharing our warmth in the dark, and outside

the wind howls and coils and twists

and writhes in agony for want of knowing

the bliss we share inside.


[Peter Clive]

Image courtesy of Aike Jansen


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