Trouble Returning to Camp
The rocks have changed
From orange to brown to gray.
I’m still unable to find my way.
It’s as though somehow they’ve re-arranged.
No matter how I’ve looked and looked,
I can’t find the place where I crossed the brook.
And the hills – not so far,
Changed from yellow and green to sultry black.
It’s useless anymore to try to go back.
The sky is opening, star by star.
I look for my flashlight in the base of my pack.
It has so many pockets. Hard to keep track.
I’ll build me a fire.
Dry wood is abundant and I find it in piles.
But also, so are the reptiles!
Seeking my comfort is my present desire.
I haven't the heart to hike -- how many miles?
My friends will be worried. I'll bring them a smile.
All I have is right here:
Here, in this clearing, where the stream takes a bend.
I am alone with my instincts, on which I depend.
I have little to fear:
No cause to explain what I didn't intend:
I may be lost, but this isn’t the end.
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