Deep inside the wrinkles
of the Blue Mountains
Cold air sits upon
the primitives' throne

Inky echoes stroll the alleys
No living essence have ever
trespassed these halls

Sun's breathe becomes pale
as it touches the gloomy
foothills and crests  

Merely sprites wearing
mantles made of mist
dwell this mountainous region

Even rain seldom visits
to pierce the ghastly silence

Amidst the fog
forgotten tokens may hide
In riddles of old and
astral vague light

seated
on a bright yellow stone slab bench
beside a cobblestone path
diving steeply into dark forest

my page illuminated
by the last trace of filtered sunlight
this overcast Friday eve

mountains peeking through low clouds
marking dark silhouettes
against a blue-gray southeast sky
hints of pink paint the western clouds
softly bidding us goodnight

scattered shouts
and musical notes
waft up from the town's bars below
dancing through the trees
flowing to the rhythmic folklore
of the local vallenato band

night closes in
darker each minute
the thin yellow crescent overhead
seizes its moment
shining brighter and louder
through the wispy clouds

as mountains emerge at last from fog
they dissolve just as quickly
into the black sky

all vibrant hues melt away
the bench transforms
dark yellow becomes gray
beneath my weight

one last vestige of color lingers on
the dull red burning on the horizon
sparks an inner fire of gratitude
for every second of light
every second of life

my page descends into darkness
written thoughts plunge back
into the unexpressed depths of the mind

Night falls.

If you ever climb a mountain
There's something you shouldn't do
Do not stay at the peak of the mountain
Simply because of the view

You can stay there for a little bit
Enjoy it while it lasts
But when the time comes
Let the past be the past

If you hold on to a moment
Till you've held on far too long
You'll miss the enjoyment of today
And that moment becomes a worn out song

So if you dwell in the past
Let go and move on instead
Once you look forward you'll realize
There are only more beautiful mountains ahead

As you move on you'll want to look back
At the things that you've come over
The peaks, the creeks, the valleys,
The glaciers, the rivers

Look back. That's okay!
Take a minute to reflect
Your past can help you prepare
For what might be coming next

While you're looking though, be careful
With how your time is spent
Because every moment looking back
Is one less step towards your next ascent

Meet me one day in the inky black shadow
when the ground is speckled with the sprinkling of the glaring flow
to bathe ourselves into warmth with the sacred, shining, golden ichor.

The sky burst its vein on the jagged peaks on the horizon,
so let us cherish its blood
and lay on our backs among the buds
until we wizen
in the flood.

A Night in the Desert
unlike any other night.
This is where the sun gets go heavy
and falls out of sight.

A Night in the Desert
unlike any other night.
This is where the moon shines the brightest
as the stars can all tell

A Night in the Desert
unlike any other night.
This is where moon guides peace towards us
and wishes us all well

A Night in the Desert
unlike any other night.
This is where the water runs little
yet our spirit runs high

A Night in the Desert
unlike any other night.
This is where mountains sleep for us
and the canyons as well

the mountains follow me follow the mountains
the mountains come after me along with the water
along with the lakes along with the rivers
with fish and people and dressings
and ships and pirated and soulful
and love and all sorts of similar

paper airplanes fly in the sky
like my brains and not mine like light
my and not mine as my darkness and mine
but do not forget that my self
that's all my eyes have seen and read
hence I am sand and grass and mountains
and mountains and lakes and you and people
and everything and everyone

18.10.18

I am
born on the prairie, stark clad
blue sky desert, blacktop desert, canola yellow desert
small in the great space
between us

I am
born of the mountains, wrapped
in forest standing strong-faced and tall, my
companions, rooted
my teachers

I am
born of beloved lands lost
many times over so faith becomes place
and we drift—
spirits uprooted

I am
born into the laws of my fathers, solemn
like their God, and righteous
holding fast to the book of their fathers
unyielding

I am
born of old world order imposed
on new world freedom—
the image shifts
and I blur

I am
born of the rhythm of my mothers
of life-force and flutter
small hands and steaming pots in hot kitchens
my church

I am
born of bleached fluorescent flicker
drawn into her whirling hurry
longing for rainfall and
idle play

I am
born of ghosts and tiny monsters
adrift in the hollow that bears their aching past
and tangled present
alien

I am
born of memory, my fingers carry secrets
daughter of the many mothers before me, their lives
tell the story
of mine

I am
born of the unknown, a swell in the stream
that spills into the ocean, I am
mother of many daughters
to come

...tell me who you are

If you're traveling on your own,
I can be your companion.
In the mountains,
we'll carve our prays there,
and leave our footprints along the sides.
We can sing songs with birds
and harmonize with the naked creek.
We can see nothing but the abundance of old pine trees
for miles and miles.
In these cold winters, the fog walks
the grounds hiding the path.
So hold my hand and be my guide
for these hills aren't my native.
We'll make our home in the low valley.
Although you sleep in the day
and I sleep in the night,
there will always be a daybreak we could meet at.
We must be up in some north country
we must be loving our lives down in the mountains.