3 years, Home finally

Standing at edges slowly
watching chasms form, the
plaintive call of the morning
cuppa sliding gratingly as
the cold water perks up
shrivels else other

He opened the misty door
watched again as the streams
coursed down
Stubbled and raspy then
shorn clean

Bare He was slippery
sliding slithering
sinewing strands suffocating
snapping sunderingly strong
the strings of His call
Strident strutting the walk.

Edge again silhouetted against
parsed cliffs Darkness He is
Light she stumbling slowly
they came after years to
know

Nothing mattered save
chattels, things, for Some
are the way.
Took, taken, delivered as
bending sloughs of skin slipping
into His rooting maw.

Silent the grimace, silent the
chords exposed, white in
the flashed night,
was it a ligament or only
her turgid flesh sating.