by Lois Harrod
Appalachian Trail, Pennsylvania
All that night we seemed to be slouching
toward something mirrored in the scatter of water,
a moon, perhaps, wrapped in a papery mist
though the moon itself seemed to follow us
as if it were the bony dog we left behind.
When at last we cramped down in the leaves
it was raining, soft and amber, and we began
to dream as if we had left nothing,
not even certainty, behind in the sweat.
I suppose it was then that the stars began
to float on the brow of the pools,
then that you rose and left me there
to dream a little longer. When I woke
there was nothing to eat, nothing to wear.