in the morning of peace and know
beside the line between now and float
the trees felt their wait and reached
above how, into the hold of sun before
and clouds they became always and
in the soul of black and white time
grew into glow and everything was true
in the days between believe and break
the sun rose dark and painted shadows
trees bowed and let go of all they held
bare fingers pointing any and no way
and all that was once held together by time
let fly the wind and broke into pieces
of nothing sinking deeper in the deep within
and cracks spilled hope in freezing drops
bottom chased chained below motionless
curtains drawn, she never left her bed.
(today I decided to walk out deep into the woods until I came up with answers to the questions I have been pondering. after walking more than 7 miles in the heat, I found myself lying face down in a grove of trees, with no recollection of what had happened. i took this photo then. i was injured, dizzy, and in no shape to walk the remaining 5 miles back to my car, but i realized that, not only did i have no phone reception, but i had no one to call to come help me. somehow i made it out. i was in the woods for almost 5 hours. after i got home, i found this poem on my phone. i wrote it today, but i have no recollection at all of writing it. i think that says a lot.)
eight miles out i fall
black out, wake up
stones edge tree lean
ask. no reception here
no one to call. leaks
from knees, red, and eyes,
clear drops of alone
air crush with know. no
breath. out of focus all.
lost. alone. maybe here
home after all.
to catch it
as if it could remain
In the tenderness of morning, the fog
wraps the horses in promise and paints
the yellow blanket soft. The horses
speak their quiet, feel their Spring,
dance their velvet noses in flowered field.
Silent are the pines, watching
through dew drop eyes, hanging
their needled peace in the foggy morning.
Early morning hoof prints mark time,
yellow daybreak, flowery fog of pineful watch,
and I am silent with wonder.
beyond dark trees/
stone peaks of grey/
light finds a way
Waits, until it can push past
wooden fingers that reach up
to block it, and thick, heavy arms
it swings as the winter breeze blows
cool. She’s trying to shine on me, as I
sit on the edge with arms wrapped
tightly around folded legs. Trying to reach
me, to warm me, but angry tall tree
hovers over, threatens to keep her from me,
with his rough, old body and so many limbs.
I hear his sinister laugh as I shiver, but she
doesn’t give up, she rises higher, where
his bony fingers can barely reach and peeks
through, glowing. The tree sags a little,
knowing the sun will win, and she bursts
through the holes in his bare branches
and I am warm enough to turn
my face skyward and smile.
What am I doing? Standing here
in the driest, cracked land that hasn't felt
water in months. I breathe in red dust and choke
it out, blink it from my eyes in reddish tears.
Everything snaps when you walk on it,
including me, and I throw a match just to hear
the crackling, to feel the burn of every smoky
breath that seers my throat, to taste the soot
of angry regret. Everything burns.