Fire Mark

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I remember when it happened
remember well
the all-defining fire mark in time
that forever divided then from now

comfortably alone
walking up along the forested valley
that is our property line at the back
my eyes drifting up the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me crisp and pure

at the instant of the startling sound
the strange light
I cast my eyes to the very tops of the Douglas Firs
that stand proud at the river’s edge

sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary of our lands
steady and enduring
yet always supple in the winds that waft and quicken
whispering the breath of life
into this pristine realm

two years on now since that ominous moment
but I never can forget the bone chill
that penetrating feeling
I was alone
quite absolutely

too long now since I have shared this vast beauty
with another’s eyes
with her eyes
with any eyes
or found my voice to exclaim its wonders

yet I still ramble the valley
wade the stream
given to an ever-rolling mumble
jabbering quietly to no one in particular
at the ragged edge of coherence
in the chance I might be rewarded with a response
her response
any response

but only comes the murmur of the constant stream
carried on the season’s breezes

I have held my mind in good humor
bound by the glory of this land I wander
tethered to the waning hope
that she is not gone
that they all can’t possibly be gone
a hope buoyed by the majesty of these forests
that climb their way skyward
with the patience and persistence of the ages

but they are gone
every … last … one
gone

can I last the ages
have I that patience
how long can I hold center
when comes my fire mark
my sundown

how long until my fragile psyche unravels
scrambling in lonely panic
seeking human contact

tonight I will sit alone again
in my room
in the soft light of the fire
the only light and warmth possible
since that fateful point in time

alone
month after month
in the smothering silence
in the maddening quiet
of this voiceless world
in which nowhere can be found
her eyes
any eyes

in which never again will I hear
a simple, “hello”

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rob kistner © 2012

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