Lost In the Woods
"My claws are mute, my voice without melody."
The great American beech looms,
its autumn leaves scattered below,
the scaly cones of the eastern white pines
lie spent among broken twigs.
The crunch beneath my feet fills the quiet.
No one travels here but the deer,
the squirrel, the wood thrush singing.
Fresh scrapes mark the fissured tulip bark,
the black bear speaking in a tongue
only the wild remembers.
My claws are mute,
my voice without melody.
The wind carries the forest chatter—
creaking branches, tumbling leaves.
The aging white birch, papery skin unfolding,
leans close and whispers,
“Where are you going?”
I’ve roamed the poplars and spruces,
brushed the white-tailed stag’s graze,
heard the mourning dove coo,
sought the great horned owl by night,
yet these woods grow strange to me.
In the distance, a brook’s rush
threads through roots and worn stone,
its babble a steady hand
guiding me toward open waters,
where the silt of the world drifts on.
Author’s Note: “Lost in the Woods” was published in Atlanta Review’s Spring/Summer 2025 anthology. The version of this poem published in the anthology is over three years old. While I waited through the acceptance and publishing process, the piece continued to evolve. Since then, I’ve refined and stripped it down—a natural part of my growth as a poet. Looking back, I see how much more verbose I was earlier in my journey.
As always, a huge THANK YOU for taking the time to read my poem. Without you, my voice would be a whisper just floating in the air.
"Where are you going?" We need the quiet of these pieces so much.
This is really beautiful and transporting, Sam. Thank you for this walk in the woods.