Friday, April 24, 2015

More Poems

Red stretches around me,
my fingers dig into the fine sand.
I am held by stone and mud,
a part of the silent forest. 
The horizon ends at the edge of a crater
I can hear my own breathing,
and the gratings of insects.
All is below me,
silent and still. 
Far below, dirt has formed a miniature canyon
A model of where I am. 

The strain of muscles
my feet pounding grassy earth
blood pumps from my heart.

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