Context — Shaking off work at Yosemite, I realized something.
Deep space drowned out my mental static. I
turned modern Tricorder to “off” and went
to nature’s bosom. Post-traumatic, my
gray mass was yet a-warbling discontent.
I tried maintain the vacuum stillness brought,
accentuating bird and hue and view,
yet smallest lapsed attention soon begot
unwitting replay of pasts I’d subdued.
Attention failed to focus reattain
while pounding ever-downward bruised my heel.
My eyes, I swear, saw beautiful domain
yet can’t recall a single slide from reel.
I, concentration on my foot constrained—
in fluke therefore transcended pain with pain.