THE SECOND SOLITUDE
I woke on the frigid round
grass of a clearing, dominated by
a single towering pylon,
wrought of iron, criss-crossed
by supports and strewn
with transformers—but not a wire
leading to, nor trailing from
its lone colossal form among the trees
no path out of the clearing I could see,
but only tree that clung to tree
with bony limbs, like lovers in a frost
until the wind’s direction changed,
and, lovers’ hands forever lost,
new arms outspread from branches seemed to say
(come in, do not delay)
and dropping sounds of rivers at my feet
they made as if me to embrace
but as I pressed into that wood,
the leafless limbs all scratching at my face
no sooner touched than splintered into pieces,
shattering like glass on patient feet
that bore down to the stream, where I beheld
but small the soft brown animal,
the clumsy newborn cub of bear
that washed its snout, some hundred feet from me
my blood froze as the river
stood between us and I wondered,
slow surveying, searching for the mother,
hearing back behind, along
the path that I had made, a sound
like coughing of old metal, and
I took wing in my soul that day
5 months ago • 2 notes
