Morning white smooths into light blue,
the light blue deepens to azure in the afternoon.
A touch of orange, a hint of red, sudden explosion.
Now between the clouds, as the sun goes down,
a brush of lavender quickly thickens to maroon.
A blanket of black comes to fill it all in,
and just as we thought the Earth could quiet down,
the lights in the sky illuminate the space to do it all again.

Little bugs hang on your hiking shirt,
and there is gold between the leaves.
Where else could I be?

You came at me like a ride down a waterslide.
No knowledge of which way this were to go,
I tunneled and turned and soaked myself in something
I now need over and over again.

Pack up your mountains and hold them close.
You've seen what can be done
to break entire ranges to the ground.

Build your mountains back up in a new place
and know that they show for themselves,
how great and free they can be.

I want to see you in every setting, every scene;
When you're hiding behind the trunks of Redwood trees,
or floating in the space between the beach and the sea.
Show me how to dance on an empty, tunneled street.

I want to see you in every setting, every scene.
As you're bounding around the snow-peaked mountain,
maybe swaying in the jungle breeze,
just kiss me as you do the lips of the desert dunes.

I want to see you in every setting, every scene;
Between my sheets,
staring, swirling, shaking, making,
sorting, starving, seeking, sinking,
sinking, sinking.

I want to see you in every setting, every scene;
Always throwing off the symmetry of the busy city,
and tangling yourself in the willow trees.
Drive me to the radio buzz of the dark highway countryside.

I want to see you in every setting, every scene.

I want to see you in in my last setting, my last scene.

If I wrote a poem about feminism,
would you assume that I'm a woman?

I have dirt on my hands,
tears in my shoes,
sweat on my forehead,
and a soreness in my shoulders
from a day in the field.

I broke my thumb during the game,
decide to hang with the guys tonight,
wear a cleanly pressed button-down,
order a couple of beers,
and take **** from no one.

I go to work at the firm
wearing a nicely tailored suit,
present myself unapologetically,
make a living for myself,
and have no children.

I am Woman.

It is on the open Midwest roads
the names of the states fade away,
as it really does all look the same.

Sunlight seems to be pouring in
from every window of our worn out Honda minivan.
The electric doors never stop rattling,
as the tires beat across these soft grey roads.

Inside this vessel I lay horizontal across the last row of seats;
all to myself, it was my cubby hole of the world,
that encased so many memories.
It is now just a place in my mind,
but at palace at that.

I am 14 years old and have "borrowed" my sisters iPod.
I shuffle through old Jason Mraz songs,
and stare at my bare feet pressed flat against the window above me.

I watch the clouds as they seem to be going in between my toes,
and once again feel the openness of this place,
my home, sink into my bones.
I think back to that last family road trip,
And I know I never left.