White wolf swallows me

into black. Water plinks

in black. My bare knees

slide on mold. Light

bends the corner—a cave.

My cave. The light comforts

forward-slipping fingers

like music, thoughtful notes

balanced. Cave’s mouth

stalactites like teeth.

 

Out.

A stream, simple, quiet

and behind it every shade of green:

hills wild with grass, hush of pine

needles drug my sway in time

with theirs, resuscitated by the wind’s

soulful solar breath. Through high

reaching distant mountains I gather

clouds and massage from them

a warm rain. Cleansed and newborn.

 

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