I love this land
this landThe curve in the trail
reminds me of the line
the silhoute of your thigh makes
against the wall
in this semi-dark;
up from the knee,
down, into the hip
and then up-
There is a river over there-
Can’t you hear it?
that I know this place
by touch, smell, and sound
I love that it still surprises me
Hiking this trail,
I am ashamed of the litter I trail:
unhelpful thoughts polute the path behind me.
But when my mind is finally empty
it is like running my fingertips
across your bare back
in the Spring.
While I am here (with You.)
I am Here. (with you)
(Even if I could exhaust your being
as it is
even if I could come to know you fully–
I love that I can go away
to come back again
and rediscover you:
embrace the newness
that has arisen in my absence.)
The fresh soft grass-colored moss on the old tree trunk;
of the baby larks.