Consciousness flickers
a black and white bird
from tree to tree.
Paul sinks to the ground
below a ponderosa
after staggering
a couple hundred yards
from his landing place
after a fall on granite.
Your sister comes to get you
repeats itself in his left ear
his right ear submerged in pine needles.
The ponderosa’s sap drips
There will be a tomorrow
upon his left cheek.
No one stands vigil.
Paul breathes in the shadows of dusk.
Night rotates the forest
and the mountain
back toward the clock-face sun.
Its cold light ricochets everywhere.
The stream works all shifts.
A big cat pads past him
being thirsty not hungry.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
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