Give me your sunsets
                                         my love
and I will paint every one of them.
Bring me your faith
and I will  m o v e  
                                     t             /\
             /\                n    a.      /    \
           /    \           u           i  /        \
         /        \     o                  n          \        
       /              m                         s        \
                                                      for you.
Share with me your darkness;
and I will leave the lights on.
Tell me about your dreams
and I will grant your every wish.
Bring me your sorrow,
                                        your pain,
and I will hold your hand through it.

Share with me your forever,
and I will promise to love you
even
longer.

Forty-five hundred feet high,
a tapestry of sandstone,
crimson, and gold covers the
late October Smokies.
I look out at the
                valleys and peaks,
                              rocky and vast,
like the ones in me.
The river is alive.
I cast a line and stare at the
clear rushing water,
wondering if it ever tires,
and after
three quarters of an hour,
an enormous rainbow trout leaps up,
startled,
curved pointed metal
sinking into gasping gills,
her thick iridescent skin shining for miles.
We gaze at each other
as she dies pressed
firmly under my palm,
and a thousand orange eggs
perish with her.
The children squeal when
I drop her head into the bucket
on top of the heads and spines
of her relatives.
Her babies go in next.
This tranquil mountain scene is stained with blood.
A red leaf dances past my face,
I breathe in the scent of campfire,
a Mother and a Murderer–
a giver and taker of life–
I walk back to the old house
to prepare supper.

Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed  
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.

For days I wandered
In the mountains green, white & brown
Drinking from cold water streams
Eating berries & watching slugs
Sharing my tent with people from strange lands
Walking steep trails & lighting camp fires
Waking with sun & gazing at snow mountains
Sadly I walk down from heaven
Back to humanity all alone
Wondering what I found in nature
That I couldn't find in people

If six were nine
And Jimi Hendrix a nun
Would nine be none
Null and nil ?
And if sixth were ninth
And Jimi Hendrix a ninja
Falling like a sun into the sea mountains
on Ninety-null street
The world famous Quatre-vingt-dix-nullième rue
Would you mind ? Would you mind ?
Would you mind if September stopped to exist
And all the dead of September came back from Null None or Nil
And Jimi Hendrix were seventy-six.

Awake, I’m in my senses
The drowsiness has disappeared
The light colours my skin
As I walk towards tomorrow
All my thoughts and prayers
Are now in the palm of my hand
I’ll bring them with me every step I take
And I’ll never forget yesterday,
But tomorrow is where I should be
This time I’ll take the stars
Run with the lights
Cross the rivers, and fly above the sea
To get to you,
tomorrow.

aren't mountains
everything
close to the moon;
far from everyone