Tag: Reading

Still Life (A Myth)

I will pick a blue flower. # The old one sits in a vase.  Navy blue, blackened, dry crumbs, as if pressed inside an old book. A little life clings to its edges, a lingering glow. Mother nibbles at these fresh parts, the fresh…

Destinations

Work From rain and melted snow To find a way to the creek. To a stream, in a hurried dash to the ocean   And here I stand, with bits of waterfalls trapped, inside buckets. My shoes.   Soggy, wicking socks Make close friends…

Cruel River

This river runs cruel… This river runs cold. I know she’s lost in this wilderness, where the lakes are silent, dampened by snow. Here, she walks on the edge of everything.   This river will meet the sea, that’s where all lies cease, for…

Wet Hands

If your hands come away wet Then you know you drink With passion   Click on image to enlarge. Lost Lake, Oregon.          

Footprints

These cold hills stand unconcerned of what walks beneath them. Snow, that made it through the day’s rain, will be covered by night’s newest layer of white. But here today, the rain collects upon the trail. Footprints lie scattered. There are recent ones, still…

Naming Creeks

The creek isn’t cruel by not knowing my name. Even though, I have known its name all my life. On walks, I still follow its voice, soothed by its flow. I won’t ask it to know me. I’m okay with being an eternal stranger…

Lost City

The streets have no direction, no destination. They wind back into themselves, while they take her… somewhere… she’s never been. She looks at a map of the city, it would appear to be simple, small, within a defined space. On the streets is a…

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