Category: Nature

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Voyages of a Footfall

Voyages of a footfall in late November in the woods west of Kansas City. Boot treadthe color of faded apple dust, scenting like a coon hound the wizened mushroom stumps of a wild summer. I’m not quite surewhere I am, until I reach the pond — then my black gloved hands gently nursea calm hello to the bark of the dogwoods that line the scummy lagoon like sentries. In the … Read More Voyages of a Footfall

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Balanced

Look out the window sometime; with the bold winds dancing throughthe Banyan trees it’s pretty in a lanced way, a little bodega in the neighborhood-way. From the balcony, I can hear gentle laughter of soccer boys and soccer girls kicking dogwood trees instead of soccer balls. Damn, if it doesn’t get me every time. If I were older, I would have fled the sceneand left the dimes and dollars for a … Read More Balanced

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Masquerade

Blow and above the great cloudline puffs  digging heels in the volcano craterlittle tail wrapped neatly along the coast. It’s been an age since I’ve seen it donebut there the birds go again

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The Idea of Order

Here I am, an old woman in the hooded doorway of a young woman’s life the twist of my hand like a spent willow from a distance a sapling unbentthe nature of the willow. I have lost objectivism. Why should I keep it? What good has my rooting in the ashes donebut smear the blackened ink against the window-pane like an early frost. My doorway is wide. I can see the … Read More The Idea of Order

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A Net to Snare the Sunlight

Regard the sun. She winks with lashes tall as liesshe smooths the edges of her liquidgrin and calls the birds to flight before my eyes. Can but even one crab make it across the black lava rock before the tide folds itself once more upon the shore? I would extend my stick to him if I could, but my hands dissolveagainst the wood and I come to rest. Three o’clock. Ticking. Ticking.  … Read More A Net to Snare the Sunlight

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Plot Against the Giant

The willow won’t swaythe sage won’t scent the goldfinch won’t nest  the life vest will not inflate the eyes won’t widen the sun won’t care the ink won’t flow the war-lords will not congregatethe clouds won’t lift the swans shall stay put endlessly the sea to be a never-ending barren witlessness& the darkness never felt  The tongue is a dream.Nothings happens unless first a dream. 

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Gravy

Self-reliance is the wind coming through the prayer flags whistling like a pair of overalls on a hot autumn’s day. The gravy’s cooling and the counter is clean and strong as the willowthat boy doesn’t bow. The front door opensso soft and sweeping his lover comes home her arms full of rain —

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Preparations for a Cycle Journey

It’s pleasing to the mind to findthat I have everything I need. All I hadpreviously reckoned sub-par, I now wagglemy fairy wand at and pronounce: ample. Ambition, improvement, constant venturing to be better than average, this shit is addicting. From the top of the stone towerto the daisy chains below, I cannot get enough. To now breathe deeply, objectively assess, let the senses take wind with the changes in … Read More Preparations for a Cycle Journey

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Stella in the Starlight

Stella sticks her toes in the grass and she don’t knowthe impact — the moonlight bending on the bowingblades of grass, casting long shadows like tracks. I follow her, relaxed Stella don’t know her own impact. 

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Clipboard and Pen

The first organizer was Noah. Tied to a boat he counted giraffes on all ten fingers, mumbling as he went, here Dolly, HERE Angus, no not like that—chocolate-like he tempered himself to the toes. Did the predators forget their evolution? Pocket eyes staring out of lacy skulls, daggering antelopes like hot summer cantaloupe. A gosling gets a splinter do the hyenas go mad with the scent of carnage? Oh Noah. I … Read More Clipboard and Pen

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Open Window

Clasping my hands behind my back, I survey the sights from the kitchen window and breathe deeply the wind that docks from the mountain tops tucked in clouds. All is fair, if one counts birds and lemon treesagainst the straying plastic trash kicked up by flattened car tires and pulsing hydrants. The neighbor boys clatter skateboards against the stretched asphalt, heat dust wavering between ground and sky. Crisped linen shirts wiggle freelyon laundry … Read More Open Window

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Oksana

A blue bike leans against the iron railing. It is bright summertime in Ukraine and the railroad lady tends a garden full  to blooming with cucumbers, beetroot, squash she bends over in a frock like livery. Her blue buttoned uniform blossoms from beneath the frock, the cuffs kissed with splashes of dirt kicked up from the motley flower pots. She hears a distant whine— she unties the bow and drapes it on the … Read More Oksana