My walk to the boarding house

up in the north through

a night field was also

a slow drift through nothingness.

I could see little enough under the void

of a new moon, trying to follow

what might have been interpreted as a road.

With each step I sensed

the possibility of an open well gaping,

and I knew if I fell, I'd never be found,

but also that stopping wouldn't save me.

A white van passed and slowed,

passed and then hunkered down.

It was my only point of reference.

A shadowy figure got out, split off.

I groped into weaving black grass,

hands useless unless I crawled,

undulations of ground, rustling

all around.

The air was sharp and cold,

precise as a bitter wire.

I thought "Lazarus stay dead,"

then "what am I becoming?"

Finally the form rejoined,

and the van drove on.

There was just me then

in this wide open dark,

stars extinguished,

grass blowing in waves.