Lost Explorers
It is worst
of all
when we
don't know
how.
When nothing
is left
but an old
hat, a tin of fish,
a paddle,
compass
or some
twine.
No tracks,
no bones
nothing
human for the stars
to shine
down on
or to
receive our tears.
Only dread
imaginings
of their
last breaths,
or the hope
that haunts
our dreamings
where they
live, where we
see them
hiking back, carefree
and full of
songs
learned in
the place
to which
they will lead us
the place to
which
we will
never want to go.
--first published in Animus
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