From the shelf I bring down the canteen,
instant coffee, measure out a large dose
and catch the kettle just before it whistles.
There is a hush outside, moonbeams
still trickling though the fog and heavy branches
of the fir trees. The cabin is wood and I
are miles from the closest concrete structure,
a lonely hike through the trees yesterday.
I head down the dock and pour out
my first cup of the pre-morning, waiting
as I have all night to wash the first streaks
of sun lighten the darkness, cleansing
your damned soul from my flesh, my eyes
bloodshot today from my vigil, not tears.
I liked the story you told with the word prompt – I felt like maybe a few words were not what you intended and auto-correct got in the way – did you mean ‘you and I’ or ‘I am’ when you said: ‘The cabin is wood and I
are miles from the closest concrete structure’? And did you mean ‘watch’ when you said: ‘waiting
as I have all night to wash the first streaks
of sun lighten the darkness’? I think probably editing those two lines will help the poem – I like the ending – in abrupt contrast to the idyllic setting you first paint in the poem.