we had to cut it short, hiking the columbia
gorge, escalating from the you’re-full-of-
shit stage to the middle finger and finally

my fist on your chest and your shout of
screw you. our sweaty faces grotesque
with hate, you stormed off crimson and

feral and i knew that my forever buddy
was now a memory. i stormed off too,
all thunder and wind and so loaded on  

resentment that i slipped on the rocks
near horsetail falls; i broke my frigging
ankle, lost my phone. in pain, deserted,

my pride fragmented into hopeless moans.
i didn’t want to die or to feel this rotten.
i buried myself in hate/love. i wanted

to see you suffer/i wanted you here with
me; i knew i’d screwed it all up by letting
fury fill me. i howled like a jackal

with pain and fear, stared at the darkening
clouds, wild ferns,  moss on the trees and...
wtf -- suddenly you.

panting, grossly unshaved, ripped muddy
jeans, beer-stained t-shirt, biting hard on a
twig, with an expression on your face that...

tears, dude. the single most beautiful sight
i’ve ever seen;  a brother saving a dumbass,
hearing my prayer. giving me a second chance.

maybe that’s what grace means.
you came back for me.
you came back.

Brian Yapko is a lawyer whose poems have appeared in Prometheus Dreaming, Tofu Ink, K’in Literary Journal, Sparks of Calliope, Wingless Dreamer, Gyroscope, Cagibi, Penumbra, the Society of Classical Poets, Grand Little Things, Chained Muse, Abstract Elephant, Poetica and a number of other publications. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico with his husband, Jerry, and their canine child, Bianca.