quietude

for how long have you mistaken being
quiet for being
small?

on the path last week, near sundown
i carried my binoculars
and aimed them towards the treetops
down by the arroyo

i didn’t recognize any songs,
but heard them, nonetheless

i watched the desert cardinal
ahead of me off the path,
perched on the cholla,
pyrrhuloxia

heard the quail scurrying
through the dead leaves
and shrubs,
glimpses of the feathers on their
heads

when i listen
when i look

when i am quiet

i expand and i stretch
and i am filled

i am not small for being
quiet

besides, the size of
joy
cannot be measured

-A

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At Great Falls Park

The two turkey vultures
held our fascination
for a bit

in a morbid,
can’t-look-away
kind of way;

but we all watched the crane
silently glide through the water
for what could have been an hour:

the satisfying crunch
as it bit down into a crayfish
or do you say crawdad?

the satisfying echo
of the ice chunk
hitting the frozen canal

the satisfying kiss
at the pub after
in front of my friends and yours.

-L

truth

the hard cliff
is the truth jutting out
to meet me

i climb it
rocks fall, erode
beneath my feet

(standing on solid ground
has always been
overrated, anyway)

but what do i hope to see at the top?
each climb, the view is
different

sometimes hazy, clouded ridgelines
sometimes stormy, distant clouds
sometimes, pink and purple sunsets

the truth is not a word, or phrase
not etched into stone or paper

the truth is in the lines on my palms
the cracks in the rocks
the expressions in the sky

ever-changing, ever-shifting

begging for me to
witness

-A

only mountains and valleys

she asks me about him
and if i’m going to marry him
and i laugh it off easily but

i want to know why
everything
literally everything
has to have
a tidy box to
reside in

lately i have to ask,
is something not important
or valuable unless you
marry it?

can we find value in things
as they are, as they develop
as they unfold
and change?

i can’t see in black and white
and there are so many dimensions to
being alive

i used to run along the cow pasture
my lungs burning in the cold winter air

i used to huddle under my blankets
my lungs breathing in my own stale air

i am both of these,
at once

i mean, there is no box
for me

only mountains and valleys

-A

Natural

she told me:
it ebbs and flows

today I observed two monarchs
in someone else’s garden
and I thought about calling you
but I decided to keep it to myself

(you laugh when I tell you the moon is my favorite celestial body
but I think you understand
because your favorite part of our weekend
was driving home in the twilight
when the sky was deep blue and silver
and the countryside dark and still)

so today I choose to observe alone
but I know that maybe tomorrow
when the cold wind brings me nostalgia
I will tell and you will listen
even if you do not fully understand

-L

Cool Air

You drive
and I’ll look for wildflowers
to stop and identify along the way.
Maybe I’ll sketch the Blue Ridge
and you’ll ask me to navigate
but I’ve decided to abandon control with the city.
Keep heading South
and let me call you darling.
I promise to write poems about you
if you promise not to turn around.
You feel like home
and I know you like the life you’ve built here
but I love it when you take me far away.IMG_9098

 

-L

Color Palette

I see you in earth tones:
green when you round the corner on the trail in front of me,
brown when you pick me up again clean and fresh from a day in the sun,
gray when you move in close and shine your hungry eyes into mine.

and I know that I am the deep purple of twilight
shining with stars yet murky with shadows.

but I think the day and the night,
like the sun and the moon,
are better when they blend together
as dusk and dawn.

-L