tide incremental reapers
I was atop a granite face
in earnest witless fear
rage and storm
purity ritual water
driven by lightning
thunder and bellows
staccato x-ray indians
head-dressed ghosts
kept in rise
kept in wanting
kept squatting
in my mind when
I closed my eyes
so I leaped
twenty feet into wet leaves
crevasse-d crawl doors and weave
perception reception needing
the kneading between things
the slink slip silk ebbs
threaded wane don't forget
Shiva and the trees know
when time seeks bones
both feet on the ground dancing
a late Autumn sky beckoning
for your soul, flesh
and corner stone
can you give
a little more
for those places in you
scent chooses to see
perhaps, in a poem birth
in low wet sand
before dawn with
the sea saying
to the shore
I was rain once
just as you might have been
born in the mountains too...
EJR ©
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