Among the bare trees and ridges
in the last days of the year,
I tried to get lost. It was nearly dark,
evening clouds covered the mountain,
covered me, pulling deeper down
past mossy fallen oaks and the stream
that sang of never returning.
I followed as each path faded,
until there was none, and no me,
just blueness and quiet, and I secretly
hoped no voices would find me to call
me back. Late, in the dark and cold,
there were voices that haunted me
back, and I shuffled return steps
with my head down, through the darkness.
I still long for lost.
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Talking to the Clouds 