Posted in Art, Poetry


But when we sit together, close,’ said Bernard, ‘we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory. –Woolf, The Waves

to be

wrapped in tree
not easily mapped
a canopy of arm
towering beneath
a search for light

leaping waterfall
bridge this ancient path
stand still among
the breathing rock
Great Spirit found
to be

fading into our center

One thought on “Pictograph

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