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
Every ridge felt.
Fort To Sea Trail. March 2018
via Weathered Waves Of Grain — Elan Mudrow Photography
Feeling a little Hi.
Columbia River Gorge, Cape Horn, December 2017
via Hi — Elan Mudrow Photography
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
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
She admires the trees, not knowing how young they are.
Gone are the old souls, but she doesn’t know that, the stories she’ll never hear.
She takes a leash off her dog, he runs in the clearing, the meadow once there has vanished and the grass in the park will never turn to a summer’s golden brown.
The pond is peaceful, always is, always will be.
Still, there’s an essence, buried deep in her face, a look of recognition, a wilderness imagined.
The dog runs up to her, flustered, happy, drooling.
She handles a phone.
Snaps a picture of him under young trees, places the leash back upon his neck.