Penny Harter

Undone, we yearn to wander off a path we know
onto another one—that beckoning animal trail
meandering into the undergrowth of twilight.

Twilight haunts us, hiding secrets in the density
of evergreens, burying them beneath ancient
boulders—notes from a visiting glacier’s score.

Scores are everywhere, their notes begging
to be played by any instrument at hand, sung
by any creature who dares tongue.

Tongue, the strongest muscle in the body,
wants to stutter toward truth, until the teeth
clamp down, trapping the unspoken.

Unspoken, our tender wishes of the heart,
our fear of the unknown way, our reluctance
to risk going nowhere—and come out undone.