broken boughs / body bag

Broken Boughs / Body Bag

The marks of your toes
are all you left behind,
broken boughs marking
your naked pilgrimage
disappearing where you dove
into the silver pulse
streaming from the mountain’s peak.

The hollow trees that let you leap
stayed me,
wound mossy clutches over my feet,
mocked me with echoing screams,
built precious hours of searching
into an absence of eternity.

Three miles downstream
your demons lapsed into
hypothermic sleep,
your body frozen,
the helicopter later lifting
you stiffly into the violent sky,
ropes wrapped round your icy frame
so it looked as though you were cradled
by giant invisible arms
as though you were being held dear
instead of transported
and like we didn’t have to wait
frigid on the mountainside
for the coroner
to give permission
to the paramedics
to break your form
enough to fit
into the body bag.

2002