Wilderness

Of what 

will we build our fort, 

my dear, of what

will we build our fort?

these sticks, collected here

to burn, gone soggy

from the unexpected storm upon storm

will only create a lot of smoke now,

I'm afraid;

which might scare off a hungry bear,

but never keep us warm.

Why we didn't cover them

right away, secure

in a waterproof place?

hindsight is perfect sight, 

but I was not born backwards, dear,

or with eyes 

behind my head.

Most people are given 

just enough light 

to find the next stick

to add to their fire

or reinforce a wall; 

most people only see

what is right in front of them

if they see anything at all.

But

Most people don't see anything, 

my dear.

Most people weren't born 

with eyes.

So close yours too and

fall asleep, 

let the drips from the leaking flap cover,

and the distant winderness howls 

lull you-

tomorrow you might wake up

somewhere else 

entirely.