Deer Lodge, MT

The fourth in a series of travelogue poems.

The wind that first carried you away,
parasailing to some undiscovered country
Is the same one howling outside my makeshift window
in this dilapidated cabin.
If only I could reach out and grab one shard of recognition--
The sand, the waves, your beaming face,
Any sensation, no matter how trite.
Instead, I lie here, blank, quietly cursing the darkness,
Longing for a sadistic blizzard
Instead of this relentless, indifferent gale.

By Jake Adams