I become painfully aware
of this solitary existence
as the crust of three-day old snow
crunches underfoot, the sound
in decibels, almost deafening.
Boots invade the criss-cross markings
pledged by rabbits, bits of fur and excrement
strewn on a trail not meant for humans.
Today, I am not one, but brethren
of the hare, seekers of green.
Fallen Sumac berries burst up
under light snow, red confetti
for eating in lean, gray months,
pawed and nuzzled with ears pricked
and pink eyes frightened wide.
The mind succumbs to darkness,
its thick shroud pulled close to mouth,
covering steam created by inner workings. Fires dampen easily
if not for chilled bone friction
that keeps legs moving.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Gloom Cupboard 2/09 Issue 77