I searched this morning
in thick alpine water
then placed my hands on a wooden trowel,
I'm weary of fear, so I traveled along the mountain's edge
in the direction of contentment,
I depend on osprey and eagles for friendship because
I cannot write another sonnet;
The depths reveal the image of garden tools well worn bearing palm prints
like my parents' dreams,
Dreams that became their graves, side by side, forever sealed,
the grind becomes the ground becomes the mountains, golden, and lonely
No comments:
Post a Comment