From being out in the wilderness, I’ve awakened to the reality of how fragile life is in all its form. During the day, I’ve seen bears cause deer and squirrels to flee into hiding. At night, I’ve heard the cries of hungry coyotes and wolves. As one of my teachers once said, the images used […]
natural world
Atammayata
Birth and death, love and hate, the burnt scent of cloves on fingers and campfire on jeans, nothing is attached for long. In the butter soft leather light of purple fog, a royal procession of swans announce themselves.Not made of that, the lake is restless for now
Breckenridge
Unimpressed with me or my camera, the raven, clove black with a touch of tar, draws easily from the pine needle-covered stream. So easily, the way honeysuckle curls over the broken necks of cedar, or how, in slumbering isolation, a reddish shade of Colorado awakens as a poet ready to desert his own mind.
Nothing we see is color
Cezanne said that but no one believed him All we really seeis light valiantly massacred the mineral-laden earth with its zillions of herbal veins and carnivorous flowers mere pinpoints of light reverberations of molecular light adorned with ornaments of human bones
Leaving the Tunnel
Nothing we see is color Cezanne said that but no one believed him All we really see is light The mineral-laden earth with its zillions of herbal veins and carnivorous flowers mere pinpoints of light reverberations of molecular light adorned with ornaments of human bones
Distillation: 2
Having grown bored with wisdom, resting by an old fence of fist sized rocks, chalk whiteas baby powder, the young man leans back and shuts his eyes, recognizing the subtle earthiness of not knowinghow a few drops of water spins sugar nests from grain.
Samsara
Bestowing only impressions of sorrow, in the butter soft leather light of new fog, a royal procession of swans announce themselves. Birth and death. Nothing is attached for long.
Where the River Bends
Our memories were Once possibilities ofGod’s timeless perfectionOur lives predicted by Laws of grace, our dreamsForgotten by the freedomOf moments lost and foundAn everlasting river of momentsRushing to fall apart again andAgain, more than a mother or fatherGod is a friend, the one who holds us
