the gorge

The Gorge

In the deep gorge, near the river that died five years
ago and is a pale scar running from inland mountains
and down to the coast, unheard words of lovers come
here to die; “I love you,”” Come back to me” “I can’t live
without you” whisper in the breeze for no ones ears but
the intrepid that comes here to conquer his own fear of
love. It is easy to get lost here trees are unfriendly, bark
have thorns and branches snap when you try to climb up
to see where you are, and wild beasts follow wait for you
to succumb, fall asleep so they can come eat your brain
and leave you confused and rescuers will say: “Poor man
he’s got Alzheimer.” The stillness hears fearful screams,
the unheards last effort before sinking into silence