II.
To bend is to detour from straight, a vice-grip. pry-hard ache that yields curve
From line.
As I morph into a vanishing point, blurring into the horizon, humanity’s hum (rubber to road and hunter’s bullets) dissipates into vegetation and I sink
into the mountainside.
It’s muddy, thick oozing suck my toes don’t stay here too long mud
That accepts me like I’m actually wanted, embracing any surface area that stays.
So I move methodically towards boulders, using my shovel as cane
To tap my path.
Blinded by dusk pivoting past trees,
gold perspiration guides my footing
to where I begin.
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
My gospel invites a circling hawk and startles migrating starlings
Into a confetti sky, an audible soundtrack more complex
Than that monotone freeway
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
I angle tangents parallel to the river with each shovel hull,
Estimating length and degrees based on instinct: terrapins hold their magnetic north to water after birth why can’t I? Can’t I find my way?
I look I look to water
I look I look to water
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
Repeat
I look I look to water then find footprints, a bas relief in terra cotta
That brings direction
Check: each step ruling precision
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 good
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 almost
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 there
Laugh, so far off it echoes and even the trees shake their leaves,
Leaving me in wake: a double entendre because at that perspective, nature teases:
crevices filling with water faster than I can dig or lift my legs
through the mud this one way, sine turns to cosine
So that when I retrace this journey, the other side reaches perfection:
One line lending itself
to bend.
To bend is to detour from straight, a vice-grip. pry-hard ache that yields curve
From line.
As I morph into a vanishing point, blurring into the horizon, humanity’s hum (rubber to road and hunter’s bullets) dissipates into vegetation and I sink
into the mountainside.
It’s muddy, thick oozing suck my toes don’t stay here too long mud
That accepts me like I’m actually wanted, embracing any surface area that stays.
So I move methodically towards boulders, using my shovel as cane
To tap my path.
Blinded by dusk pivoting past trees,
gold perspiration guides my footing
to where I begin.
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
My gospel invites a circling hawk and startles migrating starlings
Into a confetti sky, an audible soundtrack more complex
Than that monotone freeway
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
I angle tangents parallel to the river with each shovel hull,
Estimating length and degrees based on instinct: terrapins hold their magnetic north to water after birth why can’t I? Can’t I find my way?
I look I look to water
I look I look to water
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Heel, grip, swing, dig
Breathe
Repeat
I look I look to water then find footprints, a bas relief in terra cotta
That brings direction
Check: each step ruling precision
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 good
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 almost
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 there
Laugh, so far off it echoes and even the trees shake their leaves,
Leaving me in wake: a double entendre because at that perspective, nature teases:
crevices filling with water faster than I can dig or lift my legs
through the mud this one way, sine turns to cosine
So that when I retrace this journey, the other side reaches perfection:
One line lending itself
to bend.