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Posts Tagged ‘mountains’

With Any Luck

 

 

 

Meet me in summer

when the mountains

are softened by fields

of blue lupine

and the creeks run clear

with the memory of snow.

With any luck,

we’ll get lost until

we, too, begin to bloom,

until whatever is cold in us

melts and races away

with a bright and bubbling laugh.

There are days we forget

how to make a fist,

how to speak any language

but praise. Meet me

in summer when the old

high trails are open—

what else might we find

behind the crumbling

mines—some share

of ourselves we’ve yet

to have met—something

so spacious we never

dreamt it would fit

inside our skin.

With any luck,

it will follow us home.

 

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Just because it’s the longest day of the year
doesn’t mean that the bean sprouts in the garden
won’t freeze tonight. Again. As they did last night.
And two nights before that. So I water them.

I water them real good, for I am still shocked
and delighted that the process of freezing creates
a degree of heat. Every time I consider that fact,
it stuns me. It’s like a joke that makes me laugh

no matter how many times I have heard it.
And though it’s all rather predictable amongst the rows,
what comes up when and what the frost will kill,
it is always new. I never stop marveling at the pure

determination of those tiny leaves as they thrust
through the hard dirt crust. And marvel again at their
vulnerability on nights like tonight when the wind
gets lost some other where and the stars shine clear

in the cold night air and the frost doesn’t care
if I’ve planted the beans again. And again. The earth
spins on its invisible spit and summer goes on
as it always does, different than it’s ever been.

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Step by Step by Step

It’s a dead end, the road.
But that is only the road.
At the end is a trail
that will lead you past
the waterfall, up through
the larkspur, waist high,
up past the turquoise
glacial lakes. And then
it ends, the trail. But
that is only the trail.
The mountains do not
end. There is the scree field
to scramble on. Clamber
up to the ridge, and then there
is over the ridge, but it is not
over, this journey. Were you
hoping that it was done?
Looking for a reason to turn
around, retrace your steps,
go home? Look. No
matter which direction
you go, you are already home.

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Three Crazy Haiku

Every part of me
burning and still, go figure,
I feel lucky.

Lost and scared, still
the only thing that makes sense:
fall deeper in love.

Light spills all over
the mountains—oh morning, please
kiss me like that.

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