Are We There Yet?

  I walk the autumn woodland. The forest floor lies under dry leaves and dusty stuff; beetle carapace, paper hives quartered by storm and neighbor boys. Slingshot's deadly aim. The dark dog ambles ahead with nose down and chin furrowing the trail, searching and delighting. Deer pellets, trail scat to nibble and gobble. My attention drifts away-I love the hound but dread the dead odor upon her, so turn and allow of the canopy above, textured and lacing into the frosted air, drape over me. Embrace my tender frame, aching and alive. Synchopation of the mad woodpecker drumming catches the wind falls along the ridgeline with the sinking gray cloud going dead in duff and scree underfoot. How can the dawn be other than this? The world is empty. The woods alone. Dog up to her shaking haunches in swamp stink- mud snout. I am aware this is all for me. Only me. My kingdom in spite of everything. Logic disappoints. My rising sun brings long shadows and light. The gray and rust...