Yuga by Renée Alberts

On the way to Three-Rock
by Paul Perry

What it was that lead me
through the fields and into forest
I can’t say, but whatever it was
it felt like a compulsion;

in other words, I had no choice
in the matter. This may have
happened before, but somewhere else.
In the forest there was the dense

smell of pine, underfoot the crunch
of kindle and out of it like smoke
rising from a dead fire
came the fluttering of birds and

their voices above me in the trees.
Suddenly I was there in the clearing,
high up, watching a boy pitch a tent
and a girl watch him. They fumbled

together in the dark, they held
each other like first-time lovers.
They did not see me; I was not
to be seen. Besides what would

I have said to myself: that the mist
in the morning will be cold and
the moon, it will stay
hanging in the sky at least until dawn?