64. Come Die With Me And Be My Love

     Come Die With Me And Be My Love

 

We should be spending more time in the high country,

saving less for the mortgage and squandering

enough to buy a tent and the rest so we could

just go. We need to waste the hours putting

one foot in front of the other, passing through

surroundings no one planned, or thought to plan,

where it wouldn't occur, even to us, to imagine

growing anything. Just moving on

where the harder one needs to breathe the harder it is:

up slopes where, if one falls, the ground catches

and holds a long time before letting go;

up slants and slides and steeps and screes where no one

can lead because of the hail each step releases;

heights where we could see a stormfront coming

mountain ranges away, an avalanche

from the Great Divide, suspended in steadfast motion.

We ought to be losing so many more days in that broken,

barren land at the tops of the heaps where it's clear

there is no right way of doing anything

and nothing to argue about, and children would cry

and want to go back home. We need to get turned

around--to have it fall dark before we pitch camp--

aching more than eating--drugged with numbness--

huddling by a fire more smoke than flame--

soon turning in--to wedge ourselves between rocks

there can be no rearranging--holding rigid

then melting into each other's body heat.

We need to exist where no one would even know

we went, let alone know where to miss us.

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

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Maybe the darkest article I've ever read in your blog.