Tims Cabin
Description: Tims Window (2019)
The first morning
wind and
traffic picks up at the same time in the sun creeping down the mountain
we speak in the technicolor-blue of the sky
distance is measured in canyons
in early fall, when meeting, speak of gulches
the reveries of summer
looking for an outcropping of rock he says:
it is far as you can see and then that far again
and I think he's talking about the human endeavor
I wash my hair and beard in well-water
rocking mind
flying back and forth into place
together myself
(together no-self, low rolling surface drain)
Elm smells best in the stove
--our central star
We get up in the morning--stumbling on the hardwood floors like people waking from concussions.
Ward radio plays. We become silent unplanned all at once
as if we're saying wordless Quaker prayers
I cut us out of the photo
leaving a white silhouette
tearing a white silhouette across the earth
There are ways of waking up that brighten yellow in season
clapping aspen leaves from breathing
the breeze blue
There are ways of being alive that makes shapes of us
by moving light across floorboards and in-between we're like clouds
but this is where clouds come to die
we're like foam salivating
into nature's mouth
sealed over us
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