Photo from collection of Author

———-

Way, way up here in the night
we learn secrets;
what goes on in the treetops
or on the forest floor
if no one is looking to see but the wildings.

Bats dance an aerial gavotte
and fears – both fresh and stale - 
vanish in the dwindled light.
This mountain top we stride
is surrounded by higher ones yet,
and they play as only mountains can
tossing the lightning between them.

Try to grasp a bit of an earthly thing
if you can, hold onto smoke,
chin held up high to touch the smile of the moon
peeking between scattered leaves.
Question what you hear, not the gun’s bellow,
but the heavy footfall on last year’s leaves,
the war growl of the bobcat, too close at hand
or the warming roll of insistent thunder.

Yet another night of rain, moist love from above,
a review of life, as seen by kites in the air,
very few moments manifest as they touch ground,
what a fine way to be.