Go back to the lime tree where it all began,
carved our names, we never want to admit it.

For the flashing black clouds, trying to fight. Rain,
craving comfort from the ceiling of trees

electricity longing to reach through some
nylon fabric. Lesson one:  welcome hotels.

Sun glow, we spin through the Blue Ridge tunnels
eyes on core seeds, gold, grasping hot.

Barriers of atmosphere tip the peaks
they point to the yellow orb, then nothing is the same.

I am made of calcite dripping  on the floor
of the world’s largest cave. Now that the mountain

and I cleanse our hands in twisting rivers,
we see the veins of this country flowing through.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s