Into the Jungle

Creepers and weeds bar the way
into the jungle before me.

I can weave a path
around the branches
through the fence that blocks me

Or hack and slash my way
through the dense, overgrown brush
that would be easy to find again.

As I try to decide
I slip my knife
from its leather sheath at my waist.

The sunlight glances
off the polished blade
penetrating the dark green leaves ahead
distracting me from my reverie.

I replace the knife
and buckle its case
as I push a vine out of the way.

As I take my first step
thorns grab at my clothes.

My pants snag and tear;
my shirt and jacket are next;
but I force my way in
past the resistance.

As I move farther in
I collect cuts and scratches
and let the woods close behind me.

I'm shut in now.
I don't know if I'll find my way out.

But it's not uncomfortable in here.