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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