In The Valley
Water hits the roof.
Staring, I wait for the ceiling
to change colors.
Swell.
Yellow.
Fissure.
Sky floods my room.
They are but drops in winter.
Sweat slicks my neck
where the comforter
no longer
comforts.
When I close one eye I can read the clock.
If I close both, I can see tomorrow.
I dissolve.
Walls of the valley growing.
Snow snuffs the sounds of winter.
Muffled lives of quiet.
Yelping without noise.
I traverse the crevasse.
Dragging my fingers against walls
I walk to the meadow
ensconced in craggy barriers.
A robin tests the weight of a branch.
My toes curl into mossy carpet.
Pupils dilate to the sun.
Wings flap as the branch stills.
The valley sneers to the horizon.
Calling me to walk.
Where am I?
In the valley.
A victim unto myself.
Darkness is coming.
I reach to the sky
sliding my fingers into the cold, sodden, clouds,
and pull them over me.
I will not rest here.
I will not sleep.
I will not wake.
I will just grow numb.
The valley hums with life.
My senses prickling
with bees tickling flowers
and leaves fluttering
as water careens
between the rocks
moss covered
at the whim.
I can only see in front of me.
I can only hear my heartbeat.
I can only feel sorry.
I can only smell fear.
This is the cloud.
This is the valley.
This is the shroud.
This is calamity.
This world has an adversary.
The adversary is me.
There is no way out.
Only through.
The valley.
The adversary.
The self.
The beginning.
