Where to begin?
From the top, I suppose
Of the proverbial mountain
Standing steadfast
Slowly penetrating
The indigo mist spiraling
The pinnacle
Peaking through the
The unified particles gathering
In bent-up lines
In pent-up times.
Electric
Against my own your skin is pressed
Entranced by optical pools
Enchanted by what lies
Beyond the colored flecks
of jade and chestnut we digress
Melting into a single texture.
Easy.
Steadfast and consistent despite
The prodding lecture
Of suspended disbelief
Unleashing ourselves
To the ambient
Four-dimensional
Placating the phenomenal
Perceived through the "right kind of eyes".
Gleaming yet gleaning but still
Guiding, this compass
That encompasses the raw
Torn-back flesh and ego
Scored and sacrificed by nameless
Aboriginal ancestors
Arching their bows with
Aim to eradicate
Foul ideas and fallacies
Judged beneath the squinted
Eye determining the deadly course
Of another forced
Self-consuming
Twisted moral paradigm.
They salute with self-satisfactory smiles
To relieve the conflict of conscience
Regarding blood-splattered soil
Salting the vague consolation: sputtering,
"This too shall pass, my brother".
Comforting one another
With the zip of
Vibrating strings
Pulsing against the
Weathered fingertips
In imperfect time.
Curving cedar lines
Poised with precision
Resemble and assemble in fragments
The urge to protect and preserve
The curve of a lover's spine
Bent-over and braiding
Long locks for war
Sitting cross-legged
On the dirt and hide floor.