I sat alone in darkness

I sat alone in darkness and caught the wind ambling through the orchard from the north,
mixed with the rain of late fall and the sound of footsteps--field mice traversing through the bramble in droves, escaping the talons of the owl and her piercing night gaze--it lingered momentarily, recognizing the abscess beneath its skin, and slowly drove my spine back against the wicker beneath the vines with the chill of judgment and sincerity.

I looked deep into the maddening haze at the disappearing traces of the fruit against the ground, rotting and festering with circadian rhythm upon the severing of their umbilical cords, waiting for death in the form of life and the off chance of eternity in the form of myth, and pondered after friends and worried.
I waited for the sun to rise once again and rip the pall from this earth with all of the dishes still in place above it. Nothing would shatter on the heads of the children sleeping beneath the table. It would calmly fold the flag of this day over the tomb and replace it on the shelf.

I sat calmly alone, fearing the act behind the curtain. Fearing the cadavers picking apples. Never moving. Only staring blankly towards the heavens with an accusatory glare. The show would end the next night--they'd decapitate themselves at the top of the tallest tree. I would only stand to clap with the rest of the audience--their buckets still full beneath them. They'd cry at the authenticity of their portrayals.
Beneath the vines I stared at the uncertainty. In my dreams this is all worthwhile.
For two hours a night, this is all worthwhile.

Still a fleeting chance to walk through unscathed
but I'm afraid of you and I'm afraid of that distant rumble.
I won't sound the alarm until the fog rolls in.

Sebastopol CA 2010