Fine
crushed gravel chats with my feet.

Night
sparrow secrets soaring low on the field

Rising
with the lightening pure gray white sky.

 

Hills
within the lake.

Sky
snuggled over mountain grace.

Brambles
being brambles

Overtaking
the fields

Anchored
in sweet

Grass
and wild sage.

 

Dew
does.

Brambles
be.

Clearings.

Clear
rings.

 

Relieve
me of the promise of self,

the
inevitable old stories and lies.

To
honor them but not live by them.

I
make a new life story today.

 

Leaving
the land of blackbirds.

 

Time
as one.

Change
is the One.

Every
tree has always been here always will be

here.

 

 

8/09