At first I crawled
Nails annoyingly encrusted with dirt
Through stuffy undergrowth
Thick and cutting as barbed wire
I could no longer see my hands
Struggling progress up vertical slopes
Tumbling into valleys
On sliding patches of mud
Dirty and bitten
Beaten and stung by little buzzes of perception
Living in squalor for a time
Functional necessities
Learning to make do
This year
Perhaps my head will pop up
Over the unattainable hillside
Gasping for air as if underwater for years
My eyes will see the sun
Teepees nestled along the river
Dark people
Daily life
Children laughing
Maybe I will come home
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