Sunday, May 2, 2010

The Bishop's Peak

Tonight I am climbing a mountain,
ascending my troubles, dodging the roots and rocks.
We began in the foothills
where the gnarled ancients spread their woody arms,
where the wispy stalks of weeds wave in currents
thereby elevating them from annoyances to art.
The dust from our sandals forms an effusive mist
and nothing is as it seems.

The raucous frogs drown out my thoughts,
shouting the perils of discovering oneself,
but the cacophony is stilled with each advancing step.
Our heads are down, plotting and plodding our course
but when we finally raise them,
I am rewarded with the city lights diffused
by frosted glass, the undulating street lights forming
organized constellations in the mist,
the cars mere travelers across the
profound darkness.

They are like airplanes and
single serving friends,
who you appreciate but will never see again.
The full moon tints all the landscape in a lying pearl,
a deep gray giving way to a titanium white,
what peace.


The wind silently caresses my hair,
as if I am her child,
I lay my head on her cool stone lap
and wish to never leave
never wake up.

But now the clock is quietly yelling
responsibility into my globe.
It tells me that experience is fleeting
that work needs to be done
so despite my protestations, I leave,
we leave.

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