When you come to,
it’s dark but clear
like a Herman Miller Aeron Chair,
True Black
Subsurface heat is meets
the cold
refreshing air
And you’re like a baby,
disoriented
cranky,
and naked
You feel a vibration
that’s in that space
behind your surgically removed
wisdom teeth
Without thinking about it
too much
you’re sitting up
on top of your sheet-covered rock
Feet feel
hard on the ground
Your greeted by
the animal who slept there
she jumps into your
not-ready lap
Look into her eyes,
they match
the fog that’s outside,
and your mood
Walk down to the water
where land ends and relief begins
this is the clearest view
of the top
Without knowing it right off
and perhaps too quickly
—you rushed to ready—
you start running
to the clouds
There’s a drizzle
rain, that’s not really falling,
just there in the air
stopped in time
and in space,
captured in trees
you see
as you ascent
You go for miles
up,
it isn’t easy
When you get there
you find a stack
of firewood—
the murderous remains of the lumberjack
Your pores open and feel new entry
As you descent,
to where you started
Home, where you’re heated
by the warmth of the stove,
which runs on natural gas