I’ve decided to let my inner weather out.
Even in the nerves flashing, some things
are only shadow.
What’s up with that?
My muse bruises me.
Some days I sit hours to be relieved
by a word.
Today’s word is invisible.
I got it in a text picturing myself
in this landscape.
I’m putting trouble into place, turning
toward what is.
Listening to stone translate into silence.
Here is an old rock covered with lichen
in the mossy forest inside the self.
I like it here when it’s green.
This is me evolving.
We get to meet ourselves where we are.
I’m hanging on. A whisper.
Certain prayers are tied to this ribbon.
How in hell can nature throw clay into art
into a speaking being into air.
I saw a world that was an afternoon.
This cloud in my hand.
Sky pouring into sky reflecting the absolute
of the lake.
The flock and its tangle of shadow.
Nearing the end, I could hear a lark.
Its trill fixing itself to my brain.
It seemed a thing becoming a wave.
A thing dissolving into the world
as I found it.
To parse the velocity of trusses and stars
flowering here at the edge.
Calling me home.