We had set out boldly, backpacks
in hand, no flashlight, trusting in
the crunch of aluminum, squeak of cold,
the teardrop-shaped remnants we left behind.
Our breath in billows, as
trees take shape out of a dark horizon.
Under them I feel swallowed,
lost, and lonely. My ankles ache where
I've broken through crust.
We've come far,
but what am I doing out here?
Proving I am unafraid of shadows?
I shiver, you keep walking.
We do not speak, overwhelmed,
I suppose, by how black
the night can be. We often forget.
And yet, through the easy darkness of
the woods, through the misshapen canopy
of maples, like tiny incandescent bulbs,
come stars.

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