They just need a lighthouse keeper

some light to pull them into

and a person to hold the light steady

steady for them to see

and follow

steady like a tree

a tree that stands tall in the forest

awaiting the arrival of birds to take shelter.

 

Falling into the mud-pile

sticking to their clothes

their skin

their hair

attaching to them

and grasping them

like tendrils

from a creeping plant.

 

Eventually something will pull them forward or back

to the place they should be

and hopefully stay

greet with optimism

 

veer from melancholy

welcome the sanguine way of life

so different from their sullen pasts.