San Isabel, June


Dawn, overhead and heavy.

I am
5 miles off the motorway and 2,000 feet up

Hips bruised
sunburns. How steady I feel this morning
how thick the stream-clean legs
how pinked with sting

soundless, still I am
woken up to see God
scalding the morning
onto the lips of the valley

cloth grips the muscle
of my back new
cold from a clear runoff
through ribs

I am deep in grass
I am cold in air
I am sun-untouched as yet
Wind off the hill:


shifts a new body
in a taught thin hammock
unzips a damp bag
to bring a stale limb to air
hair to uncoil from wool
sock to roll off and foot to inhale
and to graze
the weighted grass

Each, alone, consults the sky
for time, and some, location

all new to new body, all
rocky on assumptions

crinkling, rumpled

meet each to each

At the river shouldering to pass
toothpaste and unpeel
brushes from Ziplock

I love them, each, best.

All birds
all gold
all warm tip of Ponderosa
all blue shadow on
purple faces

I love them each before water
or cinnamon
or the one now stumbling:
slowest to morning

each, each unpeeled child each now, before
later giggles
before later knock

They are good—

One thought on “San Isabel, June

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