An unmarked land
I traverse over and over and never learn its ways.
I stand without a map at its border
breathing a pure free cold.
I never stop being afraid that I will find no words to lay
a path across its still expanse, no punctuation to make landmarks,
to make sense of its rises and depressions, its places of rest
and of pushing on. At its edge my mouth is dry,
my knapsack sags with emptiness, but turning back
is more arid and barren still. There is only an inhale
and beginning to break the silence
and a new road through it.
Seeking midwinter inspiration with other good folks
writing along in February at Write ALM