A thick forest overheats as you hike
through Idaho mountainside during the afternoon.
You drink water slowly.
You move in slow strides.
Around you, overgrown brush,
tall pine trees and not much else.
A blue sky hides behind low-level clouds— gets
smothered when it tries to reveal itself.
The smothering is humid and reaches the surface of my skin.
Sweat pours like a much needed afternoon cloudburst.
You can’t dispute this reality:
the undertaking you take is strenuous, butterfly.
They wait, you don’t arrive.
The empty people await your presence, the girl shrugged.
Hope denied the needy who gather here for strength,
a motivational word before they depart back into the thicket of branches.
You remain on the mountainside but hear the pine trees create eerie noises, butterfly.
The cries of duress shattering glass, pull you from the path you’ve rested.
Your skin tares in spirit as you realize you grew wings, and antennas.
Your eyes yellow, compound and become multifaced with light.
Your slow-paced flight leaves a trail of bright-colored literature behind.
A tranquil rain cools a mountainside.
©Linda J. Wolff - www.wolffpoetry.com