I have walked in the forest darkness
That stole every nuance of light,
And inhaled all evidence of shadow.
My hand outstretched,
Waiting for something,
Anything that might
Crash, cut, or bruise my body.
My feet stepped on dirt, and rocks, and leaves
With caution as they sent ripples
Of blind butterflies banging
And clanging the interior
Of my gut.
How could a forest eat all the light?
How could a forest collaborate
With the clouds to steal even the tiniest
Wisp of starlight from the sky?
My ears opened their eyes
But they were so small
And so unused to being used
For seeing
That they were almost,
Not completely, just almost
Useless as I
Walked in the forest darkness
Near Speck Pond, Massachusetts in 1974.
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