#spruce
No, I am not alone
I turn to the sky
and glisten with the same stars
that touch the whole world
and I am not tired
My face is hidden in shadows
covered in blood, sweet
and tears as well
but I am alive.
I feel the gravel beneath
and between my bare toes
That prickling fire air
only sparks me more
Everything is heightened
in my scope of mind
and screaming with life
I know it deep down
like a charge through my bones
and remember that I used to feel alone
but now I look up into
her eyes, the universe
and know it was never true
I run past the illuminated windows
of lives people have built
for themselves
and even feel connected
to what they represent
I make my decision and begin to fly
the distance from lonely
growing inside
My roots are unwinding
and finally
ripping free
from all the cages
I made throughout my years
I take the forest path
in the comfort of dark
so that I can be alone
but won't have to feel alone.
I sit among the towering old trees and
I breathe
a deep gulp of the universe
It is calm and eccentric
and everything at once
It breathes
I breathe
and I am not alone
not ever
wherever we are
we are not
alone.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
a church bell rings out in the distant fog
that hangs over our morning today
to and fro the birds chirp
with songs more intricate than the ear can hear
dew droplets rest on the ends of spruce leaves
their sprigs, shaken, from the rain weather greeted it
and whether storms lie in wait
tomorrow
i wait to meet it
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 2:04 PM UTC
As plaintive tones from a distant flute
drifted across the mesa valley
the sun over Spruce Tree House
began its descent toward dusk.
Above the courtyard, Anasazi masons
plaster-sealed the final stones
on the great cylindrical tower.
Collisions of mano and metate
echoed across the canyon as women
crushed dried kernals into cornmeal.
Others hummed as their skilled hands
brushed thin black patterns onto
scores of newly crafted bowls and jars.
A young girl rushed up a ladder
to announce her brothers' return
from ripe mesa top fields,
carrying baskets of fresh cut
corn, squash and beans on their backs.
A summer of nourishing rain
promised that storage cists
would be stocked well with food for
the arduous winter ahead
and seed for the vernal plantings.
Dusk fell on Spruce Tree plaza
as rich aromas of venison
and fresh baked flatbread
suffused the crisp October air.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC