Someone was here before me—the tracks
always leading in, never out. I can’t see myself
in focus—the snow no mirror. Mirage, maybe.
I’ve always been walking, it seems, on the curving
path in this forest, always the crisp feeling
of something haunting or about to hunt.
But where are the birds? No calls to mimic,
no sound of wing, unless my footfalls count as flight.
And the cold cold air everywhere. Dear Breath,
Dear Growl. Dear any sound that breaks this silence.
Carol Berg’s poems are forthcoming or in Crab Creek Review (Poetry Finalist 2017), DMQ Review, Hospital Drive, Sou’wester, The Journal, Spillway, Redactions, Radar Poetry, Verse Wisconsin. She was winner of a scholarship to Poets on the Coast and a recipient of a Finalist’s Grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council.
Artwork: Marianne Stokes, The Passing Train, 1890