Setting it all up to break away and run,
like feeling your way through
a briar floored forest,
you know, there’s a walk space,
tiny prince williams, fern, mountain laurel,
and crumbling chestnut roots,
somehow safe and somehow threatening,
and it’s not at odds,
it’s just the way it is.
Just the way it is
when you know it’s time to enter
the deeper heart of the woods,
muscadine and maypops,
brown trout and stone flies,
always that, the good and the bad…
BY THE CREEK THINKING,
Always the beyond where it doesn’t matter,
this summer zen that smells like raw earth
and tastes like spray off the green Chatuga,
hhhmmm, yeah, sit a while here with me,
your face framed by slow waves of perfect black hair,
the mists wrapped about the laurel and magnolia
of our Blue Ridge hills,
in the pines and in the pastures,
I just won’t decide. Passion rests.
There’s no good or bad.
There is only this,
this you and the smile that reflects my own,
that lands like pillows and shines so hard.
How can I write the face
that wilts into the shadows…
How many different words
will I be forced to speak
before we reach the place
where we will meet?
As though we were the couple
in Hopper’s famous diner,
silent, common and apart,
facing the same direction,
but still refusing to see the other.
Nighthawks whisper, right?
And with all the bravery
of one man into the storm
I turn and ask to please
come out, or else shall
I just come on in.
Nervous years collapse.
And you raise a smile
from those long moments.
We turn the light on the shadows
where strange faith and life hid.
And I feel the soft kiss,
that love instant that says
there is no thing greater
than to speak and to smile