written into

morning she brings me a
coconut oil coating
a slathering
for sun/wind worn face

tears in her eyes when she talks
about the yes men and how they
put out a paper reporting all the news
we’ve been wanting/waiting to hear
(iraq war over, gay marriage legal,
u.s./mexico border wall torn down,
no more killer cops, the glaciers are growing etc.)


flip phones the sprint man on the line says
make you feel real important
they get ringing and you just flip them open
people don’t know how good they are
after i use the word ancient
to describe my 7-year-old un-smart device

two wild wolf/german shepherd –like creatures
ahead of me quietly crossing dirt road
into alpine forest as i exit
secret creek-following path

an attempt to describe this particular
mountain/desert quiet:
it is written into the land

grass seating
featuring surreal mountain backdrop
we three (amanda-panda, liana and i)
talk train treks and
closing the circle and
the significance of

distant lines of lightning
scraggling down
blue-gray sky where
mountains dip down
(some say valley)

walking into sea of pleasanted smiling faces
(mostly retirees we guess)
as they listen on to
local cover-man
whose theme this eve is van morrison

sight of stars emerging through
pine needled branches
while sky sometimes strobes
seat of tiny twigs and dried needles
poking into
rickety tree fort delivery
she brings me clarifying statements
she brings me sleeping bag and pillow
as night cool comes on
she brings me the flicker of the candle
that she lit and left in the window
i did a lot of running away she says


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