I sent the others on ahead
to steal some time alone.
“Solitude is the price of quiet,”
she seemed to say,
unaware that my delay
will be my absolution.
She knows only that the air foretells snow.
Even her young know this, although
they have never seen snow.
It will fall gently on this glade
making it easier to see
what needs to be seen.
One is never truly alone.
I am always and unavoidably accompanied
by consciousness.
I am aware of his presence.
I am aware of his authority.
I am aware of his majesty
although I cannot see it.
I was aware
that he was watching me.
There is a time for flight,
and there is a time
for jealousy and rage.
There is a time for regret.
The secret to life
is knowing what time it is
(it is morning).
I pretended not to know anything.
I am aware of being consumed.
I see only the clearing.
The others have passed through
and escaped judgment.
The clearing was wider in years past.
Now it is surrounded by saplings.
There is no hiding place.
There is no water.
Our time is ephemeral.
He will not stay to lick my bones.
He will leave me in the leaves
after my soul has flown,
to be scavenged by eagles.