Friday, July 31, 2015


Morning fog rises
deep between oaks and
elms that solute to
the north side of the river

My mind’s heavy from
tobacco wedged between my gums
and the sleep fog that hovers
in my early-morning mind
as I stare from the bluffs

The curious sun peeks above
the rolling hills in the distance
like a child looking tip-toed
and unrelenting over a railing
at a zoo in summertime

My sunglasses paint the world
sepia and things are separated
by gradations of shades and shapes:

bronze intensities,
chestnut delineations,
foregrounds and backgrounds
that stamp impressions

cottonwood wisps float from
branches somewhere thinking
themselves raindrops

I’m sure there are sounds
out there – sounds of the woods
and sounds of organisms –
but all I hear now is breath

Soon, there will be others here –
people walking on the path behind me –
but I will choose not to notice them
as they scan their steps over rocky hills
and fatigue hugs them with paternal arms

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