Imagine being a hollow tree
On a damp morning in
November in Minnesota along Lake Superior
When lonesome is the
Only thought on your mind
When the clouds do not lift
For days and the wind
Is perilous from the north
And the white and black of your
Rotting trunk is the only disparity
To the orange and brown ground
Where the mushrooms, they even they
Are dead.

That is the way I felt walking up
The gravel path at dusk with two friends
Such a dusky hazy muffled
Moment when the only light was
A blue black that seemed to last
Eternity and our breathe from our
Mouths were drowsy ghosts in the air around us
And the cold hit our ashen cheeks
And stung red the luminous blood
Gathered in our eyes and
I thought of her how I would never
See her green eyes again looking out through
Up on the hill looking out through
The forest and over the lake which
Could not be seen as a lake anymore
Just a profound purple translucent hole
And out over into that last bit of day
That bitter blue black which
Hung so hallow on the horizon
The saddest light endlessly
The saddest light endlessly
“We are almost half way there”
Said ***** and I nearly died right there
Nearly crawled on my knees into the forest
And as I gazed behind me into that black emptiness
I saw something run across the path into the forest
Something run away from the fear of loss
From the feeling of hurt and pain
It might have been a deer or a wolf
It never looked back it never turned around
And then it disappeared into the woods forever
And the only thing I could do was turn my shoulder
The only thing I could do was continue on.