I think that all this time
my muse has waited here
wrapped in a serape, wearing a light sombrero
that covers her eyes and her face
when she folds down into her arms
the bright blues, reds and greens of the fabric
stand out against the landscape
only the toes of her boots peeking
She has the patience of a mountain
all this time biding everything, awaiting my voice.
So, speak to me; I share your soul
I will lay it atop mine; we will be naked together
I will take your hand
Hike you up.
We will walk the crunching, dry road
Atop a memory of rivers.
Together we will teach what we have learned
Rebalance this nature to
the water I was from, before & after
This eternity of land
the patience it holds for all of us
You, newborn again, mute, blind, awakening a soul…
And this silly, simple human made of words.
I am listening as hard as I can
My ears are still
No cilia vibrate
Except a breeze passing
The buzz of a heat-fly
En route elsewhere
I am amazed
No other sounds are available here
The silence has an intensity
My ears bear weight
A scant half-mile from
What passes for a road.
Here are the mountains I remember
In utter stillness, fully alive
Never fated to touch the sky.
Just to survive the eternity it takes to be a mountain