Step two : Get small, she said—small as possible you ain’t gonna reach the earth if you insist on being so big. Curl your toes; just like that til you sink neatly in on your center– double, triple, crisp and clean-cut like a paper brochure tuck yourself under and let the head droop.
At the top of the outcrop I sat with my knee-bones tight to my chest— the river undulated below, swirling in shades of blues and yellows refracted light on stones of marble the guttural current cut the cliff to slices–jagged & twisted and
Praise be the autonomous who sit, crumped upright in a land of red Mountains. The ones who eat, food dripping from loose corners, at a table of stone, who lay, facedown on beds of Earth shards, listening hard for the rare sound
Three cheers of a dusted dawn; electric angels sweep the streets, and light clouds skip stones against the still lavender waters of the canal. Earth sings her morning tune, low and orange against the cool palm breeze. Creation calms and tells me I must start today from the inside. No half expressions.
Surely it can’t all be cast to the tan lines. The sun—our cicerone across this celestial plane, casting her silhouettes upon skin shapes etch-a-sketching that which we outfit ourselves with— Surely. That can’t be it. Because I see him
At the end of it all rests the trees. Time stands just as requested in the company of pines. My steps are holy circles, hewn deep and echoing; I listen as my ten-thousandfold world system shivers like a wheel barrow child barreling down a grassy slope, arms stowed against chest. Bullets rain dully, as dumb as porcelain and half so strong.
I am the mountain against the shattered panes of glass; dynamic quests for focus leaving a viewer head-tilted more confused than ever. Dawn mist lit amber saffron, sweeping streaming willowing between fern slopes. Still slopes. As still as possible.