Fallout (Crank 3)

Three nights at Lake Isabella, hoping no

one would come looking for us.

Kind of surprised when

nobody did. Another

three nights camped just west of

Lone Pine, in a sage-carpeted camp-

ground, more primitive than the first.

It was there, listening to coyote

song and eagle cry, that

Kyle crashed like iron

for two days. I gave him a wide

swath of privacy, exploring the brush,

gathering firewood, and otherwise

tending camp while he slept

morgue-dweller sleep.

When he woke up,

all groggy and weird, he was

so hungry he finished off two-thirds

of a bag of jerky. His face flushed

with color and the shivering

slowed. Resurrection!

THAT WAS YESTERDAY

And when we made love

last night, a blanket of frost

settling over the sleeping bag,

it was different than ever

before. Slower. Gentler.

Less demanding, more giving.

Hearts quickening in lockstep.

Breath like moth wings aflutter