A Poem by Elizabeth Poreba

Criss-crossed by disturbance in the trees—
branches tossed and heaped as if
for bonfires of monstrous festivities—
and sealed off by snow annealed to shell,

the wood road was invisible.

I’d gone to get a glimpse of deer whose hoofs

had pocked paths in the debris, to note

signs of lives beside my own, grace notes

to bring home,

    but got lost instead,

for their wandering led beyond the ridge

to a terrain untouched by sun, edged in pines

that soughed in sounds unknown,

and I was deeply lost, though I’d have thought

 these woods were my own.