Out in the woods I sit,
waiting.
Waiting on the wind to
blow leaves off my path.
Waiting for enough branches
to clear.
So I can see my way.

My head looks to the sun
that burns
my back, and my
hands,
they feel the gnarled nub
of a stump that my
body clings to.

I pray to God,
for rain.
Enough rain to flood
this dreary wood.
To wipe it out
like in Noah's
day.
To wipe it
clear and clean
from my
memory.