The Hike

What is with you, on this hike
Is what you will see:
Bullet holes of autumn leaves
Lifeless heads of oak galls
Broken bones of ancient trees.
Unleash the grip and enter
Open-palmed, unsheltered eyed
And naked hope unfolds
Rebirthing in the scattered flesh
Multiplied and Gorgon-like
Spreading like noxiousness
In fields of the damned to take
Over the path you chose
Not to take, the red flowers
Being
simply
what they are.