En Route

We lay sidewise, to our left Mount Sholo loomed,

and beyond it, Nogun Peak. Walking Bear

a cloud ahead of Skyhorse. The wind screamed,

the fabric of the Cosmos felt a tear.

Above, below, the Ancients battled, bolts

of massive force collided in old war.

So we lay still, beneath our heavy pelts,

and spoke in whispers, glad for the sun's flight,

for the deep hours, like two newborn colts,

licked and awkward, squinting in the light.

Now when we turn we see the colored tents

on Trone, where we are pegged down for a night

of Everwinter, where the violence

of bitter winds and frantic, whipping snow

whistle and rip at rugged tarpaulins

that keep us safe and sound. Too soon the glow

of dawn leaks through the kinks that lay us bare

to God, the world. And so we rise, and go.

Tannhauser Gate shines dim and winks afar.

12.24.14 —2.22.15