Monday, 29 of August of 2016

Michael Adams – Transformation

His body grew heavy
Hair covered him, nights lengthened
His tongue thickened; speech
was difficult.

He shunned company,
took long walks in narrow canyons
where a hovering sun never reached.

Feet swelled to calloused pack
and one day, he left his shoes among stones.
A trail of blood followed.

He no longer understood the words
of those who called him back,
no longer knew
what words were.

His companions walk on all fours,
wear thick coats of blue, black, and brown.
They are solitary and content
in their solitude.

Sometimes in snow he glimpses
the two-footed tracks
of those still upright, stands
on hind legs,
drawn to them.

Then remembers–
the close, warm den
berries, fish, crystal streams.

They’ve stopped calling,
His teeth are strong, he eats
the inner bark of pines
and raspberries.
his coat is full and soft.

Michael Adams
March-April 2002 Earth First!


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