Aiming at the walnut tree
and missing.

It’s so big yet somehow
the arrow lands in the tall grass 
to the side, to the west. Sunset is 
not yet here, but its approach
is obvious now in long shadows,
this dusk-rinsed light.

I will seek the arrow
tomorrow. Too much chance 
of missing it in the hayfield tonight
and then choosing to give up
and leave it there
out of frustration with a goal
unachieved. Even tomorrow
would have been too late
to succeed. 

It is admirable, I guess,
to be able to walk away from this
and not think of it as a failure
or shortcoming on my part.
So mature, so clear-headed.

Inside though?
The real monologue:
listen, I took the shot.
I missed the target. 
I left the arrow behind.
My form was fine.
I should have at least
struck the target. 

I should have. I could have.
I could blame the light,
I suppose. I could blame the shadows
and my fatigue although
that’s still on me: I should have
known better.

The walnut tree.
Now in dusk. 

What would
my father say to me
if he were here?