four miles in mountains
sea-level city in view
small leg miracles
red sun rising dawn
over midwest misty lake
beauty for a lens
every morning
as i come to my crossroads
just after dawn
touches her fingers to sky,
i make my decision–
an uphill battle
breaking my muscles,
the wind of the highlands
an ever-greater challenge
than the meandering creek
i pedal for simple sights:
the middle-aged blonde
with two matching goldens,
(sometimes leashed, sometimes free)
the bright yellow spot
of a SmartCar, and me
always wondering just where
on the curvacious beauty of
a road i will pass it,
the ever-silent deer
who peer intently at my machine
as they stand cautiously
at the edge of civilization.
and today? a gift,
the top of the most tenuous climb,
the wind bending back leaves
and straightening out flags,
pushing against my will,
when what should cross the road
but a lone pronghorn,
its native spirit leaping
over barbed wire and into
the chaparral, leaving me to
finish my ride, open up
a starvation-induced chocolate
whose wrapper reads,
You are exactly where
you’re supposed to be
(i don’t throw it away,
its aluminum words
imprinted on the crossroads
that may lead me elsewhere tomorrow)
spotlighted white half circle
against a blanket of navy blue,
shadowy mountains sheathed in pink,
golden streams pouring over bridge,
cotton candy clouds of violet,
calming gray threads stitched into
budding green quilt-work pastures,
deep-set pools of brown nestled
in five heads of beige curiosity.
the moon rests, the sun rises
to the colors of my morning
only at dawn
stepping out of the gym
could i see this golden moonset
it hangs above the skyline
a bright medallion kissing the morn
and smiles at the pink-streaked clouds
that rise opposite
welcoming the wintry day
where snow sits stacked
along the edges of the road
covering the cattle-longing pastures
i forget (as we sit here,
our hamstrings on the boat’s spine)
the colors of the day
was the sky as blue as the jays
darting in and out of trees?
were the forests a mixture of
pine and deciduous greens?
your mouth reaches mine
like the palm of a blind man
cupping my lead home
all i can see now (day washed away)
are contrasting colors of night
silver, black, gray, and white
as sharp as noon in my sight
you press against me (i reach out)
clasping the colors in my hand
your movements trapping them in memory
black unblurrable jagged mountaintops
over silver unpretentious waves of lake
sky’s gray bosom bursting with rainclouds
beneath the full serving of white moon
i forget (breaths heavy with dew)
the colors of the day, see only
carved out images in colors of the night
a hill that even
the toddler tries to roll down
mother tangled in dizziness
surrounded by trees
thickest oak in eastern Kentucky
(takes three of us
to wrap our arms around it)
a forest
as real as it gets
with disc golf mountain bike trails
a muddy creek
and “looks like glass” waterfall
log from one side to the other
yes
in the middle
of
the
city
houses lining the park
with Bermuda grass beauty
sister brother-in-law niece
and i think
why isn’t this my home?
they have never seen
or collected one by one
bullfrogs hopping into the water
quicker than a wind shift
we pace like predators
around the pond
tiny whispered voices containing
excitement over bulging eyes
there are no mountains here
only hills so dense with trees
you’d never see the rocky bottoms
when we’re so used to rocky tops
instead horses swing reluctant tails
in air as thick and slow as syrup
and we watch a turtle slither on a log
and frog after frog hop into our hearts.
we move through Sunday
finishing written work
reading words from foreigners
disappearing into imaginary worlds.
we step into the reality
of controlled chaos,
endlessly flashing lights,
banging balls, screaming children.
birthday party aside, we slip into nature,
our shoes sliding across dirt
that tickles the wind with views
of waterfowl-filled wetlands.
this isn’t the church he grew up with
(the one i never knew)
but with fingers interlaced
we can still see the true beauty of God.
how venomous are you
with your crab-shell back,
your daintily long tan legs,
and your sparkling beauty
of a fly-trapping web,
waiting here for our
(lost search) discovery?
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