i am cowboy lonely
lost, haunting,
hoping to be found
the searchlight-sun hitting
across canyon walls
sagebrush vibrant
against rust-and-cream stone
or cast over fields of
sweetgrass and wildflower,
i stand on the horizon
with only the wind at my side,
in my ear,
watching the clouds ramble by

lush honeysuckle summer
emerald world, rainy day paradise
kissing goodbye on a dreary eve
a soaring shift
dusty orange burnt against a stark blue sky
iron-tinted stripes of rock
strata like open arms, welcome and beckon
holding you tight in the blazing sun
among cliffs, canyons, crags,
the damp greenery
forgotten in the arid breeze

born in a suburban valley,
but the appalachians raised me
weekends consisting of
getting lost in the hills
with my eyes and heart
filled with wonder,
this world soaking in
like rain to dry ground

my home soil was birthed
from ancient mountain tops,
the crests in the distance
having seen eras
far beyond our own
they roll like waves across
this landscape,
fields of grass and corn,
harvested crop with bolts of hay
wrapped tight in bulbous swirls

perhaps that’s why traveling
always feels like i never left;
nature invites my footfalls,
belonging to the earth there

to ponder where a soul is from
how old or new it is
who i was before this-
a deep connection to things,
tugging on my string and pulling me
toward certain places, or people,
connections that linger even when
i am no longer there,
or not with the people whose
bonds i’ve grown, forged
appearing on the horizons
growing close enough to touch

we all ponder, truly,
to know ourselves
who we are and who we
once were,
where we are meant to go
and if we are meant to be
what knowledge i must have
collected before now
what wonders i must have seen
if i yearn to search to find
and lose myself
once again

jesus walked into that desert full of doubt
and i’m not really sure if i ever
willed myself to make it out whole
he’s a lucky guy, refusing temptation
i wonder if the thought crossed his mind
when that itch called to scratch
but maybe i can call up that
wilderness, that doubt-filled drought of inclination
and make it all my own

i think i’ve grown comfortable
with my own suffering.
        surviving,
                       and only surviving,
for so long-
anything else feels
                                       alien and discordant.
it still makes the future fuzzy,


out of reach.


it overwhelms me.
drowns hope.
scars and blood
bring me back to focus;
but slipping hasn’t happened here.
grounding has come
in mountain peaks,
desert heat,
the mist coming off the sea.
stagnancy will eventually return
and that will leave me in limbo.
i only dream to keep
peace with the sweeping land,
making hope grow anew.
watering the forest in my chest.
keeping the fire of my soul from becoming all-consuming.

if heaven is real, it's an open road
it's a place I've been on far off travels
where the light hits right and the sun is warm, like the love of a friend
it's a moment in time where you remember
that the world is a beautiful place
despite the cruelty, agony, and pain
it's the eye-shine on a deer amidst a
nighttime field, the headlights pass over
it's the vision of a birdshadow crossing overhead, or landing beside you
like an angel checking in
beady eyes bright with intelligence
letting you know heaven is happiness
and nothing more, nothing less

dark skies glitter from the ground below
past the clouds they dance
swirling around those who learned to climb that high,
not born innate to flight,
metal body with many souls
granted council with the stars
while canyon giants sleep below
and the bright moon looks on
a silent supervisor
with sparse electric glow
mirrored as if water
the performance above