Traveling Near the Dark

There’s a quietness about the river

broken by a random leap, splash of steelheads.

a prairie hawk loses a feather.

The natives drink a loud liquor

on their fishing platforms, dip nets

looking for fish who choose

to become parts of ceremonies.

 

The valley refracts strong light

that moves with the quiet.

Hills are made of dead gold,

skeleton orchards, lost spirit guides.

Bear scat litters small pastures

where the river overruns its banks,

forming shallow pools.

I’m cautious like a fool and listen.

 

The sun sets earlier here.

I knew that going in

I’m searching for rain or shadows

They only last for a short period.

My phone drops, small echo

Black screen on slick green moss

I yell for some reason

Maybe to prove I can make a sound

 

The sun throbs red…west…hovers

next to the peak of Mt. Hood.

Highway 14 yanks at me with its noise

where occasional deer lie still

on the shoulder of its pavement,

small trickle of blood in their teeth.

Dusk is as good as night here.

 

I run.

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33 Comments on “Traveling Near the Dark

  1. And the Hits just keep on coming ! Images and words. Under the magnet on my refrigerator, on a scrap of paper, will be written, ” I yell for some reason, Maybe to prove I can make a sound” … Wow !

    Liked by 2 people

  2. More than water, deeper than a phone, bigger than Mt Hood. Many years were waiting for this poem, and many skills rubbed against. Beautiful and dark. thanks

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This is beautiful, and feels like a sign. There have been a few little pings from the Universe lately re: Portland. I guess it’s time to take a trip.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thanks Anna. There were a lot of signs that day…on that river…in the desert…running with the dying daylight. It covered a few of your top ten tactics, if you know what I mean. Portland would love to have you visit.

    Liked by 1 person

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