Not on a dark and starless night, lonely on the empty mountainside too long
after dark where the rattle-
thud of your heart is your only truth. Arms stretch in front
of you as you shuffle forward through the leaves, feeling
for the trail back home. Sweaty palms grasp and grope ahead for any solid thing
to cling to. Instead, lost is in the glare on a false summit
as you open your eyes, just to squint a sliver.
In that second, the harsh rays sear as your eyelids twitch and flutter
and tears run down your cold, pale cheeks. Light is everywhere, it’s where-
ever you turn. It’s still seeping through the cracks
between your fingers as you cover
your burning face, and collapse on your knees.
When she’s not wielding wild words or swilling hot black coffee, Heather Moore Niver is trying to herd her wily sheep and chickens, persnickety cats, and beardy husband at her cabin in New York State.