Book of the Black Dog

I lost myself one Autumn afternoon
while walking in the woods near my home.
Where sunlight softly sifts through languid leaves,
and Larch gives way to Sumac and Sycamore.
There I beheld more scarlet and crimson
than on all the Cardinals in Rome,
and enough gold for a hundred El Dorados.
In that cacophony of color and deafening quiet
I knew my insignificance before the face of the world.
Upon leaving, I gathered myself
but had to ask: Was the me that I retrieved
the one that had entered the wood?

Autobiography in Five Chapters
I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

- Portia Nelson