a million fireflies

the back of his head
felt wet and sticky so
he leaned against the deep
roots of an old tree
cherry blossoms floated
in the breeze

she waited for him
at the entrance leading
down to the canyon
as the large black beast
stalked silently down the road

he didn't know where
he was or how long he'd
been unconscious
the air smelled like
sea salt and rusted metal

sometimes things work
themselves out but sometimes
a duck is just a duck
telling you what
happens next would
ruin the story