this place – 11/21/17

on sun-baked earth, the moss hides at the edges

under this wide-brimmed canopy, a luscious effervescence.

echoings of song bird calls are fading through the leaves,

soft like water left from rain, falling from the trees.

the wind may carry on its tide, woven in, a floating memory

your eyes may close a moment to try and grasp it with your thoughts

but the branches shutter and clack in the greenery above

and the memory slips away as you breathe out a sigh.

its as if you are the only one to ever stand

in this place

but you know that can’t be true, as the ground is packed and hard

you are just like all the others who found themselves

in this place

alone but for a moment, held captive in the space.

the air is clean and fills your lungs like water, overwhelmingly

the light above warms your skin, and slowly still, but suddenly

you feel as though you’ve left behind the doubts that won’t give up the chase-

and know that where you are is where you should be

in this place.






i am here. right now, we

i am here. the grass is green

and strong with its many summer

memories, whispering blades of

stories to each other as i listen.

the trees above are peaceful in the

friendship they provide;

overseeing younger beings

as we grow and shift

upon the ground.

the sun is shining still

and she’s been out all day.

the rays of her smile on my face

as gentle as a kiss-

i know that i am here.

right now,

when the sun and day and time align-

and suddenly, everything is bright.

the river

river flowing, tumbling down-

mumbling, rumbling- whispering

of things long since forgotten now, of all the things that you once told me.

stream and creek with water clean, tell me all the words you know

reflected on the rocks, the sand, the tiny fish, the toads.

many times i’ve sat upon a rock and listened to your flowing phrase:

endless words for all to hear and yet you never take a breath-

no other song or poetry can wash such peace across my chest.

i hear your voice from half a mile: gently you call to me-

mumbling, rumbling- whispering,

of all the things that you have seen.