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


Weathered Waves Of Grain — Elan Mudrow Photography

Every ridge felt.

Fort To Sea Trail. March 2018

via Weathered Waves Of Grain — Elan Mudrow Photography

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

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


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.