Wednesday, July 10, 2019


an aged Cedar of wine-hued strands rooted deep in centuries past
long summer Grass, copper and bronze, dancing in the breeze
the caress of lithe Arbutus: golden red in morning light
Dandelion in seed, alone on a rock-strewn meadow
a Spider surveying the centre of the universe
morning Mist snaking through Pine & Fir
Stones of stillness robed in Lichen
Songbird’s trill to awaken Dawn
bare soles on a sea of Moss
the first Rain of summer
the call of Raven
the Sky, the
beneath the
asphalt beneath the
concrete that structures our 
lives beneath the fragments of self 
we hide in pockets of fear and anger and
loneliness that betray our unspoken and denigrated
need for the dandelion that pokes her head from cracks in
the sidewalk where once we danced and jumped and sang about
our mother’s back but really its our own back that is broken and splintered
and no amount of glysophate will kill that gorgeous yellow sunshine  that dares to
 shine no matter how we pretend that Sanctuary exists within these prison walls

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