Getting to be Alone by Tim Philippart

Snow isolated cabin on a mountain, closeup-revised
beach empty to the vanishing point,
four mile hike to the lone shack on Pickerel lake,
with no voice to hear except mine.

 

no honking,
no human footsteps,
no squealing tracks,
no electricity.

 

hearing only
my heart,
my respiration.
my fingers rustling through my whiskers.

 

Getting to know
what’s left of me
right down to the
last beat.

 

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