Dust

Dust

I came, a-wearying

story in my hand,

not realizing that most folks had it in mind

to go to the movies instead.

 

So, I drank iced water,

bruising my past in the process,

and I hurried to make it to the party

before it was over

and the doors were locked.

 

I walked for hours that night

Dry and restless,

the dust shaken from my feet.

The quick laughed with the dead,

and it was no surprise to me

when I found

no room at the inn.

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Hidden Falls

Hidden Falls

I think I need to stop by Hidden Falls today, to visit the cathedral poplars and their murmuring by the river. June mornings, where you listen to sprinkling music of poplar leaves and become young again, shoulders loosening on each breath of the moist loamy sand-filled sun air. Armskin smelling like summers spent dirt-streaked and skinned kneed. Let’s forget that step toward the grey, for a moment, and conjure birdsong moving over skin. Down the sand let’s walk to the clearing by the river, when all the body was legs and belly and breath, warm and humming with the light of a June summer morning.

lupines