I heard footsteps.
That small yet distinctive sound of carpet pile
crushed under human weight.
It seemed off,
crushed under human weight.
It seemed off,
like a dinner bell at sunrise,
but I easily relegated it to my imagination....
until I heard it again....closer.
And again.
My ears now tuned to the frequency
and my heart beating a path away from the intrusion.
I heard the intake of air, a breath, not mine
and my heart beating a path away from the intrusion.
I heard the intake of air, a breath, not mine
and following it
my own gasp
as I wrestled covers and fought the lamp.
I saw no one, yet wide awake
noticed the window
more precisely, the view...
It was 5:20 AM and the moon was brilliantly large, like the rising sun...
as bright as...seemingly,
and I began to wonder,
who woke me for such splendor?
Whomever.
It was not to be wasted.
I found a coat, size 10
in whose world, I cannot imagine
for it dwarfed me, though the temperature made fashion
nonsensical
And my feet, Converse baring
cold, yet free
hit the pedals of my bike
basket full of cameras
Glorious.
The mist, the lake, the mystery.
Mine.
I saw no one, yet wide awake.
A parting shot
though as all leavings go
a cycle of emotion
around the inevitable funeral
digging the plotted field in preparation for burial
which gave birth to this...most glorious relic
digging the plotted field in preparation for burial
which gave birth to this...most glorious relic
And exhausting myself with it
smitten...
a rusty school girl crush, expended in film,
I took my ardor
higher
to a cratered lake
emerald as any jewel
Hiking beyond limits
up towards high contrast
to the Aspens
instruments of the wind
glittering in the sun against the envy of pine
glittering in the sun against the envy of pine
Even fallen, their beauty
assuaged my weary limbs
forehead to stump
I pulled from it the remaining color
once life
now art
only to have it returned
from the fingers of a child
a color wicked with whimsy
slathered
as should color be
upon the skin of us
having been wakened
and so fully alive.
.
.
.
.

