Crevasse

Walking, crawling, scraping,

Through an ancient streambed,

The hum of water is gone,

And the drip, drip, of sustenance has dried,

Riffles have since flowed to the ocean,

And every sign of life is lost, evaporated into eternity,

All except for me. 

 

How far have I walked in this void?

And how far must I continue?

Without answer,

My legs propel me further,

Bone and cartilage with tendon and sinew,

Unrelenting, forgetting their frailty and age,

Looking for something, feeling, groping for something.

 

I sing to myself,

Reminded of my own thoughts,

And all I hear are my footsteps,

And the ringing of rivets on an old carabiner,

Plod…..plod….crink…crink.

 

The sounds of biner on cave pack persist,

To remind me of another trip,

And another streambed,

And other riffles that have since disappeared,

To the ocean,

 

Everything is gone in this dark old channel.

Everything except for me.