The valley’s walls scream
as the wind rages on, ponderosas’
branches flail wildly.
The alpine air slices across
my ashed skin like razors, leaving
stinging wounds.
The black skies rip open, pelting
this valley with sleet and hail—

I trek forward through
the saw-blade meadow grass
tearing at my flesh as lightening
floods this pit, striking
the splintered ponderosas like match-
sticks, igniting them.

I find refuge in an abandoned
wolf’s den and awaken to a smoking
valley painted black.

11/01/2004

Posted on 02/11/2005
Copyright © 2024 S. Pelham Flood