20.10.09

Nighttime Walk

Long blackness falls
upon the broken path
that into woods descends
a wild ride,
cutting sordid through thick morass—
while skyward rises moon
and Jackal cries.

Bare feet plod
neglected dress of shedding pines
to find the way the heart has gone
before,
while Frost’s divergent paths
profane the ground,
sets at odds the unified intent.

Trident winds chide the silent oaks,
sends up groans of August-ine regret
till tree-lined skies
give way to starry eyes
where long the dark valley
of the river forge sighs

and I hear the call, “Come up!”

But not tonight:
for the hour is late,
and I have plod the gauntlet of the night,
a man intently searching for delight
who, for troubled pains,
gains a seldom glance
of a world un-beholden.

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