small cool clearings
a world round as a bowl,
in language unformed
you are all i need.
warm blue skied tree
moments before the storm,
loud as the wind and worried,
go from me i’ll fend for myself.
herds of rutting beasts
hot to the blood and touch,
in hissing ****** urgency
reveal to me the moment.
waves upon endless shores
newly wedded through prayer
under hopeful breath.
let us now raise the corners
miles of forest
a middle aged task.
sweating he pants,
sign to me the deed.
flocks of birds
old man’s dying dreams,
singing he says,
i show you my country.
though frayed and worn
as they have become,
the works of creation
and songs of nature
shall never be undone.
the steward sleeps,
thieves gain entrance,
grand valleys whither
and we travel
through a barren
and lonely home.