I got to bathe an elephant,
in Wyoming of all places.
It was not in a zoo
nor captive in any way.
No, this was a free and
autonomous individual,
an elephant all its own.

It rejoiced when I sprayed
it with the hose. The water
bubbled and frothed from
its trunk. It shook and blew,
smiled and stomped, as
the red desert dust ran down
its legs and pooled at its feet.

We experienced joy in
experiencing joy and became
weightless in our own levity.
Never have I felt such
loving gratitude, nor purity
of soul, as I felt emanating
from this great, sentient beast.

We played for hours in the water
and sun, laughing in the middle
of this little western town,
plain for anyone to see.
But when I smiled and looked
around, I had the strangest
feeling that nobody had noticed…
nobody, that is, but me.

****
one's
Self.

Information is weight that holds
down and holds back like a jungle
like so many vines and chutes
mud and rain that keeps
you struggling and straining
towards that place on a map
the high point that once atop
promises an unambiguous view,
the place that looks so close
there's no need to carry a pack
but nine hours later, hacking
through underbrush, pulling
at leeches and swatting mosquitos
finds you crippled by heat
cursing the map that so
grossly misrepresented the
relationship between yourself
and the place you wished to reach,
the map that never mentions, never,
that should you ever achieve
that keystone ridge, that high and
illuminating view, you will look out
to see the impeding silhouette of the
next ridgeline blocking your way.

The longer the view
the further you look past
what it was you were
hoping to see.

Dirt shows through where
there should be snow
mercury is taking the
wind's temperature
as it coughs dust
the firs' grain
pops and splits
like chapped lips
the smell of fire
precedes smoke

Comfort's embrace is
false and choking.
The masses gag in
their sleep, subdued
by its silken constraints.

I must learn
to travel lighter.