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Ink and barefeet

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I return to the Wilderness

The wildness of deconstructed time and echoes bouncing off forest walls and tree trunks. Hollowed trunks.

I return to the Wilderness

The meadow calls. She holds the deer and wildflowers. And bear. And bear forages for berries and tried to sneak into camp for meat and cheese and whatever else it could find. Black bear, brown bear. I scared them away with pots and pans clanging them together.

I return to the Wilderness

The old growth forest. The chambers of hollowed trees and lightening strikes and the lightening storm with my dad and Alon and Noah. And the clouds that day while my dad chanted an old native song to the sky gods as they formed a woman breastfeeding a bear.

I return to the Wilderness

Canyon oak tree who’s support I have for cultivating patience lingers low in my bones. I taste excitement at the back of my throat when the bats come out at dusk. And crickets. Crickets and their noise. Crickets that bite. Crickets I may eat one day. Good protein I hear.

I return to the Wilderness

The wildness of the heart. Freedom of voice and limbs and climbing feet. Candle light at night while drawing and writing with pen. And

I return to the Wilderness

To birth. To die. To dance.

I return to the Wilderness

To let go of false time. Sink into the stars and moon and water over cold rocks and be seduced by their touch as lay in bed at night. Lichen singing lullabies on flesh.

I return to the Wilderness

Cabin built by tree logs by my dads hands and moms and brothers and my own. And turned up iron tools from the turn of the century. And a story of an old woman named Babett who would host young men and seduce them and then kill them. Black widow. And stories for days from the mouths of mountain men. And women.

I return to the Wilderness

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Earth and Sky

water puja

Electricity Is

Be a night owl too:

Eyes of fish. Knees down, belly turned up.

I’d rather jump on a trampoline.

Wildness creeps on the fringe.

At the core.

Road kill during rut season.

I have placed my feet and anchored salt

Tossed with bell peppers and pasta.

And DNA holds me there.

Electricity is.

dangerous

Protecting ourselves.

the unknown

my face sideways on sidewalk

El Laberinto. The Labyrinth.

mondel it

Roots

roots RS

Ink and Bare Feet

I whittle the bones of my fuel

Ashes scattered in wind

And smoke.

Death touches life creating the Sacred

And in the end I leave ink

And barefoot trails imprinted on forest roots.

I walk. I write.

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