In the light of a cloud-smothered moon, the sight of
his breath was sad, and the sadness plaited his parts; lost, found and
indifferent. His mouth hung with his tears and he could think of no home in the
world that was his. He sat and wept for a long time, loudly, and then, longer,
in silence. All the while, he thought of nothing.
He stood finally and his hand reached out to find a
cold metal bar, and chain link digging into his palm. He stood for a long
while, one hand gripping the fence; his whole hand blue from the cold but he
did not let go. He breathed with purpose, the air ruminating in his nostrils
and lungs.
He walked the fence hand over hand. The ground was
wet, and gave to muck under his plodding legs. At this point the only reality
he was sure of was himself and the fence and his exhaustion. The fence went on
and on and when it seemed like he had gone a mile he gave in and lay into the
chain, sinking down against it, and he went back to sleep.
When he awoke again, his limbs were numb and wet. He
opened his eyes, and it was still dark. But now the black blue of the sky was
growing richer in hue, and heavy clouds had gathered on the firmament. He could
sense the sun straining for him around the curve of the earth. Lightening
flashed wildly within the clouds, and the feeling of coming-unleashed permeated
everything.
He was invigorated by the stormy blue of the
night. The lightening strobed
again, and in its light he caught sight of a dark line of trees. He scaled
himself up the fence and onto his feet, and walked toward the forest with no
intention but shelter. But he imagined eyes glowing in the shadows, and he
wanted to be among them.
He crept into the branches. They stuck into him from
all directions and he was soon in a tangle of brush and thick-spun webs.
I must be fucking crazy.
He burrowed on, pulling back fistfuls at a time.
Swatting through his hair at invisible spiders and bugs. He saw shadows on the
periphery, swaying and taking shape into creatures that eyed him and made moves
his way. Fear prickled his skin. He moved on, dismissing the shapes to darkness
and wind and tree limbs. And though he told himself they were nothing,
uneasiness stirred in him and questioned his every step. As he moved onward and
the forest became thicker he began to curse himself until hot tears fell on his
cheeks. Where am I going? And soon all his face was wet with tears and the
shadows blurred and hissed at him until he sank again at the base of a tree,
and coiled his body and covered his head with his coat and sobbed until he fell
asleep. But his rest was not long, for he woke against the strong winds
burrowing in through the trees. The morning was coming and it brought with it a
foul storm. He told himself: I will not be afraid. He could hear the rain
coming through the leaves and soon torrents were upon him just as the sky took on
light. He had never seen such a storm come with the dawn. The tree that held
him was thick and gnarled and he watched the leaves spin in the wind, wet and
glistening in the storm light.
He walked for a couple of hours and reached the edge
of the wood just when the sun came into view. And the sun said to him, You’re
not the center of the universe, you know.
There were grassy hills before him that rolled into themselves and he thought,
any moment now, I’ll find someone.
But somehow, the hills kept on. So he kept walking.
I' m not sure what is real. On one side of my eyes
it is midnight, on the other, midday. My skin is cold and my blood is hot. I am
divided, always, and I can find no level ground to stand on.
2003
2003
