there is no following where this path might lead, no heedings of warnings or calls, there is only this earth soft worn between undergrowth, thorn snarled and aching with the beauty of small leaves that touch the light just out of reach. and when we break to this beauty, as break we must. let it…
i want to ache with this beauty, taste the flow with my feet, have my breath stolen by this gorge ripped deep with its own undoing until seed and bird claimed it in the name of She who lives – shaped it alluvial green and tall with tree. i want to sit on this precipice…