mountains

Peaks

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

if i could take those peaks,
the rays of sunlight streaming,
snatch them up from my desktop pic,
from the hands that formed them

if i could have the magical hands
that shaped this imperfect world
then perhaps i could put in perspective
the shame that hovers darker than clouds,
blocks those rays from reaching my heart.

but i can’t. i’m not God, nor have the magic
that you so desire, that seeps out of her eyes
with remorse for my harsh words, her unveiling,
that sends you to bed with night two of anguish.

if i could take those peaks,
those rays of sunlight in my hands,
i would wash our sins with the elevated air,
reshape who you are in my eyes,
release the shame from both of our souls.

Ride

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

how could i not see
after nearly ten years
in this house
that a four-mile pedal east
leads right into
cottonwood groves
tucked along creeks,
sweeping plains with hills
that carry me
roller-coaster style
into the wind,
and a view
on my homeward journey
contrasting the starkness
of yellow prairie
against the jagged peaks
that beckon non-natives
to call Colorado home?

how?
because i didn’t strap on
my helmet,
layer on my bike clothes,
and find the time to
chill-the-bones,
burn-the-muscles,
praise-the-beauty
ride.

Forty-three Miles

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

forty-three miles
and we have left behind the skyline
(cash register, stadium, buildings so new
i cannot recognize their sunken Saturday lights)
that i saw first at seven, then nine,
then permanently at eleven

we are surrounded by pines
and the famous aspens,
the cabin built from the ground up
with logs pasted together,
stone fireplace, wood stove,
eclectic collection of furniture
(home away from home)

we follow the girls along
the not-so-traveled path,
pine emanating its Rocky Mountain
odor into our altitude-chilled skin,
and I remember
(oh how I remember)
why Colorado is
home, home, home.

Heaven on Earth

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Dedicated to the Glenwood Canyon Bike Trail

the sky here is always blue
(clouds sneak in each afternoon
but the mountain air chases them off)
and in the morning you just might see
(you just might, if you find the soul of God)
a herd of bighorn sheep
(brown now, September leaves golden)
startled by you
and the dawn that tickles
their grass-eating lips

you can stop your pedaling
or keep going
(keep going)
because the beauty doesn’t end there—
you will breathe it into your lungs,
the light heaviness of
the red rock canyon,
the perfectly laid path that winds
along the river that
has carved out this magnificence
so you
(you, them, everyone)
can taste for these delicious
high altitude moments
Heaven on Earth.