even as gregarious as I was
solitude was always a friend;
and I had a love affair
with the fleeting moments
when I could veil myself
with the shroud of the forest
or the film of dirt and roots
I would position trees
to ping the echoes
of my enemies and predators
the way an orca whale hunts.
had I the raptor’s ferocity
of spirit, I would come rushing
out of the shadows for the kill
only to return to the dark
and panting steam that
I had never left.
I lived in an ocean I’d failed
to learn to navigate or survive singularly
one of spastic, unpredictable predators
and rarely a rock to hide under.
so, I would retreat to its furthest recesses
at depths where almost nothing lived
in an ironic solitude
fearing both the invisible fathoms
the passing columns of shadows
filled with disembodied noises.