adjust

January 30, 2014 § Leave a comment

he knows she is there –
knows by an
amber pinhole
in the dark of the hollow,
by
the smoke rising

at this hour
she is,
he guesses,
kneading a loaf
on floured oak
to be baked and set
to cool for the morning meal

by dawn he will
be ready to go
he has,
if any body
were to ask,
been ready for a while
until now
waiting to see if
the story of
the two of them
would
play out as
he
had written it

the lamp below fades
as dew starts to gather
another chapter
torn out,
pages left on the ridge
a compass and a pocket watch
keeping them
from being
dispersed by
Appalachian breeze

he stands and watches for
the horizon’s glow
thumbs in the straps
of his pack,
adjusting
under the weight
once again

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

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