One day while
photographing
I grew leaves.
How can it be
that I slip skins
with such ease?
Light breezes twirled my
petticoat, and a chartreuse
sister drifted orange
light. Earthborne – feathery
grasses and crisped
travelers meet those
who have already
transformed –
crumbling minerals,
wings and bones
nourish sweet soil
rich in moisture
fungus and mold.
New life unfolds.
Five fingered petals
crimson hands
fly by – just a few,
infusing bodies
still vibrant
with song.
Thanks – giving
is a natural high.
Not far behind
old bones ache
from wandering alone
for so long…
Fire on the mountain
is rare this year –
Yet roaring flames
consume our Elders
whose bark is smoldering,
seed cones charred,
shriveled tombs
will not release
our dead.
We celebrate
Deep Rose
and do not
ask for more
when winds
bring smoke
and sorrow
to choke us.
Crouched
in green,
focus is
movement,
one hoarse croak –
Where is
that fly?
Cold blooded
haunches
hug stone
still warmed from
an autumn star.
I awaken then
gazing into a silver stream
swept along
down the Sanborn
as clouds burst
blue and gold
and the peace
I feel is mine
to grow,
to own.