Tims Cabin

Description: Tims Window (2019)

Published: 05/21/2021
Byline: Hollingsworth

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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