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Three nights at Lake Isabella, hoping no
one would come looking for us.
Kind of surprised when
nobody did. Another
three nights camped just west of
Lone Pine, in a sage-carpeted camp-
ground, more primitive than the first.
It was there, listening to coyote
song and eagle cry, that
Kyle crashed like iron
for two days. I gave him a wide
swath of privacy, exploring the brush,
gathering firewood, and otherwise
tending camp while he slept
morgue-dweller sleep.
When he woke up,
all groggy and weird, he was
so hungry he finished off two-thirds
of a bag of jerky. His face flushed
with color and the shivering
slowed. Resurrection!
THAT WAS YESTERDAY
And when we made love
last night, a blanket of frost
settling over the sleeping bag,
it was different than ever
before. Slower. Gentler.
Less demanding, more giving.
Hearts quickening in lockstep.
Breath like moth wings aflutter
