“I make lists’” he said
“lists of foods I love,
places
I’ve never been to,
soft cushy fabrics
just stuff….”
He blushed
confession
semi complete,
like someone
who just let you
peak into their
secret room.
“It keeps me calm,
gives me hope,”
he trailed off….
Makes sense
like a nervous
squirrel criss- crossing
from
one hidden cache
to another
obsessively
checking
gathering
counting their loot.
A young man
with life
unfurling
gathering his shield
against the raging storm,
and winds
of drastic change.
He builds his words
to furl against
darkness,
little breadcrumbs
of hope.
At the other end,
far from his twenties
I have my own
trove of delights
long series
of glories
which I tuck
into my heart
as the shadows
lurk over the Madison range:
Sunsets crimson
gold sunrises
vast snow covered valleys
crescent moon nights
shooting stars
bluebird silhouettes
elk shadows
under
full moon
coyote laughter at dawn
moose loping
through long grass
large rack
long beard
silly gait
sniffing out
love in the distant hills
geese dotting
the horizon
earnest
directed
toward
winter grounds
a solitary
bison
ancient
heavy
in stride
molting
dust covered
suddenly
swift
at the sight
of water
light
as a fire fly.
On Equinox
I stand
on the edge
of dark
and light
feeling the weight
of life,
but on this morn
after storms
the clouds
sit low
upon the range
snow covered
peaks emerging
from a
velvet shroud,
and I
like in a child’s
fairytale,
fly
dream like
toward
that
plushest
of nests
where
one day
I may
rest my head
looking down
upon all I love.
duopoetico 