Darkness Falls
I can’t ask you
to go into the deep territory with me—
watch the rose dawn light play
on the splayed pines
cold autumn morning
I depart for the desert
on foot, carry only water
and the memory of your humming
among prickly pear,
sagebrush, bitterbrush,
trickle of an ephemeral spring,
last splash on my face
rock faces, ochre pictographs,
faces of generations,
droughts and floods
darkness falls
astray in pervious shivering
I miss your warmth
only the call of a solo coyote
and mourning of doves
stars for guidance
grounding for the real
work of unknowing, of giving in
to some other morning.
Francis Opila is a rain-struck, sun-loving poet who lives in the Pacific Northwest. His work, recreation, and spirit have taken him into the woods, wetlands, rivers, mountains, and deserts. His poems have appeared in Cirque, Clackamas Literary Review, Wayfinding, Windfall, in addition to other journals. His poetry collection Conference of the Crows was published in 2023. He enjoys performing poetry, combining recitation and playing North American wooden flutes. More of his creative work can be found at https://francisopila.com.
