We watch the night sky, safe under its lights, reading a language of the night. Our hands fumble, circle as if in orbit, landing inside each other’s magnetic field. 

We whisper to one another in a planet’s dialect, built by a syntax of suns, stanzas that play between solar winds and the ultraviolet, poetry of passion and reaction.

And upon summers like this one, many readers like us have lain and will lie in the quiet, underling quotes of hot stars in a sticky cluster, a mingling of gravity and motion. 

Even at this remote position, far out on a limb of a galaxy, we know the shape of light, its means of flicker.

We accept that light is a fallible hydrogen, a spinning of stories, fiction, changing faster than longing, where denouements appear daily and relationships serve as catharsis.

Our simple act is a holding of hands, a close reading of one another, which may last for a second or for an entire space time continuum.

Our bodies move closer, clumsy, as if forever threatens to do away with us. We touch before daylight strips away our nakedness.

That’s when I let you kiss me.

I laugh with the universe in my lips.


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Salmon River Spring

Cool kiss from the forest

Stirs an inner revival

Charged by its music

Fresh from the source

That drums upon rocks.

As if my very bones

Were strewn underneath

The stream of Orpheus

Whose rhythms sink

Past thirst, deep within

My core, my atomic spirit

Embedded in my soft clay.

I am as tall as shadows

Of family fir and cedar.

Old growth is in my pitch.

I cup my hands, tightly

Holding what all life desires.

My fingers are born

Into this song shape

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Weathered Waves Of Grain — Elan Mudrow Photography

Every ridge felt.

Fort To Sea Trail. March 2018

via Weathered Waves Of Grain — Elan Mudrow Photography

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Pulling Parts

“If it were not for our wrecks, the salvage yard would be empty.”




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Hi — Elan Mudrow Photography

Feeling a little Hi.

Columbia River Gorge, Cape Horn, December 2017

via Hi — Elan Mudrow Photography

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Scapegoat’s Paradox

Holding it in, close, became a strength

An essence, a nugget, bloom’s heart

Shaped by chinks, cracks, and splits

Of a shell you wished was a softer hue.


Relinquished, expelled, produced a body

The lucid form of your careful ambiguity

From a cold clay, carved and baked

An Image of remedy, poison, and sacrifice

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Sunskrit — Elan Mudrow Photography

The sun writes a language. The shadows are produced by a wrought iron fence surrounding a water reservoir. You can see the fence in the upper righthand corner. Mt. Tabor, Portland Oregon, May 2018

via Sunskrit — Elan Mudrow Photography

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