Draft copy – (c) 2016 Jace Paul. No unauthorized use or reproduction permitted.
Brahman at Black Spruce Pond
The Ranger warned me:
“Don’t hike alone, or…” –
– or what?
I might grapple with a mother bear?
I may crack my head on an erratic, or
drown in the river, or
struck by the arm of a dying tree?
This petrifying fear of life limned –
What wasted wonder,
If I hit the ground, I’m ready to begin.
To kvetch because I might go under
away from the fussing eyes
of the Proper Custodians of Demise –
What wasted wonder!
How welcome – hear this – to be unfurled
as a cradle of moss;
to link up with the soul of an infant pine, skyward climbing
and know this: my light would finally magnified
And justified, the meager flames done starving on bare survival
unbound to fly across
the floor of the world.
I have no breath for calamity,
To fall, to feed the ferns and trees
Would be to die as who I lived to be.