Edge of the Woods

He stood there

at the edge of the forest, old

tangled and withered

he regarded the path going in

a dirt line, well-tracked, no leaves

or weeds could gather under

the stamp of feet;

He considered the pistol

heavy in his pack, it wasn’t

that he was scared of the woods

he’d been in there before,

when he was younger

his muscles were lean

and hard but now

he had gray in his beard

there were wolves in there,

and cougars with their teeth

before he could handle them

with the heavy edge of his hand

but now he’d grown old

so he considered the weight

in his pack;

He stood at the edge of the forest, old

which lined his eyes

in colloidal silver reflection

he knows he’s going back in

no choice but

where the wolves salivate

he has the weight

in his pack

and now he is ready.