A Poem

Ancient Lakes, WA, January 2023

I hear the stars oh beacon
of headlamp joy and smoke
gouge I hear the frozen

Falls and their pulse it’s real
as wind and Quincy
light pollution oh Knight’s Inn
Light on high wind alert

No board games here just head
games just the ongoing lurch
for warmth

Exhale, the soft glances in a
tent hushed by light snowfall

Inhale the wonder of what
this darkness will bring us as
temperature drops and the ink
freezes

No satisfaction on or off the page
and the night is a deepened huff

The dark and the deep
as I wonder of joints and
gear and my heart my
throat my limited time
and space a continuum

Along the redress of the sage
covered in snow

There are plenty of
questions
and I am
overwhelmed

My friends their tents
speak multitudes