Our path, weeds on bogwater pools.
No footfall sure, no hard path.
Where the way is not trusted
destination is never definite.
Flesh is preserved in dark water
closing over bog men's troubles.
Witch hazel pins them unresolved.
Judged, held over death, pain lingers
Torn throats silenced under peat
sacrificed in blackness.
Death without dissolution,
without resolution.