Some Stood Still

Some laid down,
saw a different way to wisdom–
tangible knowledge,
harmony with truth.

Hardly a gaze, hardly a smile,
but a sentiment
if dug deeper, into face,
beyond face…

I have lost my way
or my touch along this
state-to-state tour, or maybe
while lost under a slippery

stone, slippery stone
in a cold mountain stream
full of gleam, old bits of cement
ghosted, your clavicle

beaten into grounds, skin stretched
around frequencies.
A wave across vision,
perhaps just light stealing

time as water wanders on,
upside-down mountains,
out of focus, out of you.
caves turn inside-out,

we are inside-out, I willingly
lay down in this vanilla-scented
foothill, flat needle beds with you
until our skin

becomes needles, too,
or bark,
something better than
the shambles we are now.


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