These brown dried out mountains, they belong to you.

I have tried to live here, among them, to grow green greenery and feed the birds, but they cut down the bright full branches around my balcony which evicted my sense of belongingness

although really my roots never reached the ground from that balcony, they sought and sought and reached and tried and grew so mightily, but love is the food of all growth and I had so much love looking up that my leaves were bright and full reaching toward the light, then none at all as the light went to sleep

I am a creature of touch and I am starving

                                                            wilting

                                                                        my roots desperate for silent connection

 

You looked towards me for a long long long time, walking backward, I thought you softly called but that sweet air was gone

                           on the sound of the loon's lonely cry

                                                      my heart too shredded to dare trust again how could I ever

so I break open this clay pot, shattered and left with jagged pieces someone else might step on and I am sorry for that, swept up best I could, but there is no one to save me if I do not save my own roots

I am a seasonal worshiper and I follow color, green then amber yellow then sparkling white then pale pale green with pink, purple, lavender, teal

                                                      brown I leave for you, I left

 

Driving home from far far away, really tired. I am wondering:

I was certain that boy was going to fill up this whole hole in my heart; Why? What was it that was so certain? Why so fixated on him? Isn’t it notable that there is a

Fucking

Hole

In

My

Heart

?

Isn’t that the big news here?      Where it came from,         how do I fill it,                                                                              can I ever be forgiven for carrying shame which wasn't mine

                                                                                for of course it must be filled before the mate will show

Just what was it about his fox like wolf like coyote like trickster love of laughter that caught me?

                                                                                                                                      And is caught forever?

For I do think of him. Even surrounded by reddish beige, tans, stumpy green, it’s different now, it’s all different, but I do think on him.

 

May you marry in your brown sights and may it serve you both well for all your long days, my bitterness will dissipate in the growing of the greens again

                 I flee the wickedness of fire and the shaking, trembling faults

where my roots will again drink their fill; familiar, beautiful, cold yet ever changing, full