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Poetry Collection

The Loon's Cry

Remember that afternoon?

My tree sap sticky hands on kneecaps.

Watching bees dance between gaps 

Of flower pot blooms. 

You, in the garden like so often.

Shirt stained green and gold by pollen

Picking sunshine briefly captured in strawberry form.

Your hands, like the ground dry and cracked. 

You said the loon would answer back, when 

thirsty earth supplicated for a sip.

Just then, the tan grass sighed 

and the summer swelter softened 

as swollen clouds rolled over August sun.

And with water pail in wrinkled hand.

Almost like you had it planned. 

You looked towards the lake and said,

“Now listen.”

With arrested breath and arms goose-fleshed.

A song of ghostly magic filled the air.

You held me closely as the sky spilled over.

Bathed by both warm rain and by your care. 

Thistle tickled toes and raindrop trickled nose

Lost in the moment that we shared.

The Gateway

I’d been hiking for an hour when my body asked to rest. 

A small clearing in the woods called my name.

The moss, sunlit and soft.

The trees, serving shelter.

A secluded setting saturated by the scent of sweet soil and cedar.

I lay my head on a living pillow of greenery.  

Organic machinery of budding leaves and fronds unfurling. 

Looking up at the gentle swaying of evergreen boughs. 

Noticing how much these elder giants move. 

A deep sigh escapes my lips as eyelids close.  

My body bathed by a peace I’ve never known. 

And with racing, roaring mind now resting.

I could finally feel -

The symphony.

A healing harmony weaving through every fragment of creation. 

With eyes sealed shut, a lattice of golden threads emerge.

Strands connecting me with every life that has occurred. 

And like a network of mycelium links a sapling with the forest, 

I too am interwoven with the world.

Unbroken in this moment, the borders of my being blur. 

Uncertain is the boundary I begin and end. 

 

I am...

Every decomposing carcass and misguided act of darkness. 

I am...

Every huckleberry bloom and fragile fetus in a womb. 

I am...

Sorrow’s suffocating grip.

A gentle kiss on lovers lips. 

I am…

 

I am..

 

I am.

Leap of Faith

 

I see you running for your life. The hungry 

wolfpack breath on your back. A roaring river 

of grey fur and white fangs threatens to pull you 

under. 

 

You’re just a little bit quicker.

 

The end of this path fast approaching, but

when you’re being chased by monsters, the

cliff edge appears like a dear friend. An end 

to these gnawing fears. 

 

Leaping into the unknown, your heart 

unsure how hard this fall will be. 

 

But there I wait...  

On the other side of this divide. 

 

Ready to catch you with soft arms of meadow grass and wildflowers. 

Impermanence

Inhale
Mind or matter

Paradise or peril

Everything dissolves and fades in time

Relationships that fill your heart

Misery that tears apart

A wave of clouds in endless, open sky

Notice how this moment 

Ends as soon as it begins

Nothing can evade

Constant change

Exhale

Heron Ambitions

 

It was sometime in highschool when the seed was sown in topsoil. A seed that took

hold in the field of my mind. Roots creeping deeper and deep. Gripping bare naked 

bedrock with sharp, crooked teeth. A belief that told me my worth as a person was thoroughly tangled and tied to how busy I 

am and what I achieve. 

 

Regrettably, as I frantically fly from one reddish-orange bloom to the next, I forget I 

should taste what I’m drinking. I’m thinking this nectar’s supposed to be sweet. 

I am drunk on momentum and numb is my pin needle tongue. 

 

Life feels diminished. 

My turn is not finished. 

Convinced it’s a zero-sum game. 

Second-guessing decisions. My turns are like hairpins, but...

 

I have heron ambitions. 

Ideally, one day I’ll be standing serenely surrounded by minnows and mollusks below. 

A regal example of blueish-grey grace. Chasing reddish-orange blooms I’ll forgo. 

 

But for now, I fervently flap weary wings to maintain nodding head raised above freezing water. 

 

How can I stop when they’re all working harder

than me?

The Assumption

His mind is a teeming forest. 

It’s plants, dense and green 

It’s creatures, present but unseen 

In fact, everything 

Found within it, 

Is thought. 

But there he stands, amidst it all. 

Convinced he caused the chickadees call. 

Believing he made the fir trees grow tall.

Assuming he formed the waterfall.

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