The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide

Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale

The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach

Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change

Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness

Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul;     that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's  impending break

Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies

The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...


someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM

That's what he told me
years ago,
when the hills first
started to sprout
in my head,
beneath the sandcastles,
and under built fairy huts,
when I knew the world was round,
but thought it felt like
a marble in my palm.

He told me,
while I wrote a poem about
a plant,
and then one about dirt,
because I thought
all the growing things were beautiful.

He told me,
after my multiplication
worksheet came back,
bearing 100%
and I couldn't have been
any more proud.

He told me,
after he showed me how to tie shoes
without bunny ears.

And I believed him.

The hills grew into mountains
I promised to move.
But the fairies left the hut when
I left that house.
And the world was round,
but it looked awful flat.
The marble grew heavy, and
got too **** big to hold.

My poems changed,
I'd **** the plant, and the dirt
was only *****.
I thought sad was starting to
Look beautiful.
Math got hard, and I
always wanted new shoes.

Nothing grandpa said
made sense anymore
and his dementia-soaked brain
went too crazy for my company.

Still the mountains in my head grew,
but it was starting to be too late;
they were growing around me,
and I couldn't move myself,
let alone the mountains.