We Can Not See The End, Until We Are In It

We Can Not See The End, Until We Are In It

They instruct,
“The mountain is not far.”

On a narrow highway with one hundred vehicles
I am a lone pedestrian.

A thing has crept into my boot
with its prickly nature, a sea urchin
desperate for warmth.

I slouch and drag my way
through a flatland with hollow soil.

Praying, I bend forward as the breeze
presses me sharply to turn back.

They do not understand.

The mountain is moving; if I do not make it,
it shall sink headlong into the horizon.

A windmill tilting at me,
eating at my still forming self.

I’ll carry all I can with me.

This poem was first published in Lunaris Review in April 2017. This is its first time appearing anywhere else.  


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