“In the morning light, a caterpillar is hanging by a thread,
bobbing and squirming and zig-zagging in the summer heat.
‘now that’s core strength,’ K says, then
‘poison, don’t touch it,’
with your finger, exposed flesh.”
_______________________________________________________
“We’ve slashed, machete’d dead
limbs, rangy branches, topped by thin-point leaves,
like a desert plant, but no, this is too true north for olive trees,
And behind, the hidden figures of (his/her) place,
Mustard-yellow willow and the dead-spacey little green apple
tree,
Two hummingbirds touch down, flit to orange blossoms, a gold
finch, fat cardinal,
the telltale ‘cheep,’ what was covered, enmeshed, the
mountain stream bank,
a wand touch upon the River Styx, where darkness, fright had
spilled, before we cleared the brush
and let the light in.”
and let the light in.”
Next: Running for Your
Life: Joseph Campbell in 1958 … !
