Grounded

by Karen Hodgson Price

Work has me guy-roped
to time and place, still
I stumble out, daily—
dazzled, shin-scraped.

This tenuous tent strains
in the lightest of breezes,
the drizzliest of rains
but it’s the bivvy bag I crave.

My face forever to the big sky
just one more element
in the universe. At its mercy,
in its grace.