“The woods sigh. And then, a thousand miles away,/I’m in your arms again. Your breathing is an ocean./I’m drifting away. You whisper.”
Guided by lamplight, I keep the river in my left ear.
The path winds through to the trees. The dark lingers.
I close my eyes, listening.
Salmon decay slowly in the waters, washing up to the shore.
Mold covers their bodies. The bears will feast soon,
hungry, and tired.
Something whispers. Ice sheets, moving along the currents.
Snowflakes create a spectacle in the fading daylight. Shimmering
in the dying sun, they reflect rubies, emeralds, and golds.
I blow into my hands. My breath is a cloud. There’s still
much to do, far to go. The rifle is warm under my care.
Oil and frost.
The woods sigh. And then, a thousand miles away,
I’m in your arms again. Your breathing is an ocean.
I’m drifting away. You whisper.
But it is only the ice in the river again. Telling me to move,
you cannot stay here. Night is advancing. The fish are dying.
I am not. I am here, and she is out there, somewhere
waiting for me in the warmth. I can almost feel her hands,
fingertips.
But its only the cold. The familiar breeze of winter on the way.
Toward me.
Willingly, I take my first step into the dark.
Daniel Letz was born and raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He enjoys walking his dog and reading books.
