Wrong Turn

Tonight I tried to walk to the forest.
I expected it to be
somewhere between the dark of the wardrobe
and winter’s hush,
but it was loud with neon lights
and booming cars,
and the woodland fairies were working it hard
at every intersection.

I went to the woods
to see the deer running in the lightning
of tonight’s balmy winter storm
but I followed the flashing lights of emergency helicopters
in the melting foggy night,
thinking they were messages sent from your starship.

You were by my side thirteen hours ago,
lollygagging on too many comforters
and pillows
and silk tassels were wrapped around the bedposts
like yesterday morning’s newspapers.

I fled the sitcom marathon tonight
to go to the woods without you
to bang on rocks
and watch the deer
and smell cedars in this strange mid-winter rain.
I expected otters sliding on wet river ice
but instead found open water
winding its way through the gutters of downtown.

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