it’s mostly
cloudy and wet
in Sitka.
the Tongass,
a rainforest.
i don’t mind,
in fact often prefer
a Summer day of
60 and misty
to one of 80 and
bleached.
a Winter day of
40 and quilted
to one of 0 and
splintering.
after a Winter mostly in
the 40s, with
typhoon after typhoon,
we’ve for the last few days
been clear and
cold.
every evening around 4pm,
i walk a 5 mile
roundtrip;
from my housesit,
over the bridge to the airport,
and back again.
the moon rising
in stupefying splendor
up the back of the
Three Sisters,
Verstovia,
Bear Mountain.
it’s overwhelming,
this hour or so
at this time of day,
that both fades and
amplifies in its luminescence.
the sky going pale before
purple. the mountains
gold dipped
from western setting
sun, blue hued
from rising
moon.
the stars up above
just beginning to turn
on, as i make my way
home.
the tiny pinprick
starburst of joy,
in my borrowed body.
brief, fleeting,
dissipating as i return
to my common states;
sorrow and
stress and
yearning. mostly i am
uncomfortable. alcohol
was the way i learned,
at around 15, to deal
with this. and
i’ve never found a better salve.
no amount of
exercise or
clean eating or
meditating or
love
with a beautiful woman
has ever brought me
the kind oblivion
of alcohol. i think
the final frontier that i am
attempting to survey and
understand, in
my lifelong struggle
with ever feeling ok,
is the angle of the lenses
with which i view
the world. given to me
before my bodily birth,
the negativity and
beleaguerment
of my perception
seems to be the loose
fill that i have built my Self
upon. and so i work
to dissolve without
disappearing. empty
without starving.
slake without
bloating.
i recognize the absurdity
of my condition;
we all cary
hell around
with us. and
heaven. always
with us, too.
zakschafer.com 