We climbed into the anytime night,
swept into the heavy forest like Jews escaping,
animals without worry of tripping
over freshly mounted headstones.
The hustling below hawkish owls
piercing us with their centrifugal yellow,
the brute trees quarantining us
through an unrelenting maze.
Thinking of safe cover
(imagining bear and wolf dens),
considering that if Buddhism is right,
we can indeed break our very minds.
And yet when darkness eventually lifted,
with our beds of moss and rock,
we thought only to reach
the river and map out a new future.
Tyler Gabrysh is a Canadian writer who has been a contest winner in Geist, Other Voices, and Open Minds Quarterly. He also writes his self-coined ALPs (alternate lyric poems), and his book reviews and interviews have appeared in several other publications. Among his inspirations are his two cats. He is yet another writer working on a novel.