Panic

It’s not about the shot
It’s about the journey

Every riverbank trail
Every cold clearing
That fades
Into forest

Fog lying low
Brisk noontime throe

Looking into the sky
Being stared back at
By abyssal
Overcast

Why has this
Come to pass?

Looking back
At the
Mountain pass

Did these rocks and trees
Grow here to fear me?
Roots in the riverbeds
Turned to driftwood clay

This pass will know
My veiled face

Pathfinder’s tracks
In this place
Stay stratified
Where they’re made

Dug up dirt
Trembles before...