The Exile

(for Bigfoot)

What if you did not have a name
and did not know it.
What if you could not
understand the heart’s desire
but had to follow its fire through
the dark forest of the night’s wire.
What if you were naked with hair,
pushed everywhere, always, by
the sudden rush of fear’s red flare.
What if you did not know how
to rub sticks together to make a flame.
What if your mind was only half,
could only follow its vague thoughts
under a dim trail of dim stars.

But say your half mind half whispered something,
a half joy, half there by the lake’s side,
say there was a half sense that the bird’s high flight
half said something, about something, farther and wide.
What if your half mind half knew that you
were going somewhere, that you were half way there,
there, on the snowy ground of the deep ravine
where your mate lay for days cold and still,
your half heart’s, half sorrow, frozen in its half fear.