Can you tell me

where to go from here?

I’m lost and

don’t want to be found.

Four wheels of time have

taken me somewhere new–

the snow-tilled treads

the only proof

of where I was.

The horizon stretches

a hearty “good morning”

but the tree line

blocks my view.

Crack the ice

drop me into

the wintered pond

show me

what it feels like

to be alive.

The crust of yesterday

cakes my eyes:

breathe

don’t resist,

the tree line says,

this happens to be

the way.


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