Longing for Lost

Among the bare trees and ridges 

in the last days of the year, 

I tried to get lost. It was nearly dark, 

evening clouds covered the mountain, 

covered me, pulling deeper down 

past mossy fallen oaks and the stream 

that sang of never returning. 

I followed as each path faded, 

until there was none, and no me, 

just blueness and quiet, and I secretly 

hoped no voices would find me to call 

me back.  Late, in the dark and cold, 

there were voices that haunted me 

back, and I shuffled return steps 

with my head down, through the darkness. 

I still long for lost.