Our Trip in Prose

Afterwords...

buried in unwashed clothes
the desert reminds us of its existence
with a cactus spike
like a thorn in ones side
poking painful reminders of my absence
proving
it wasn’t a dream

Drying sage fills my van
collected when busyness subsided;
Sand witnessed between floor cracks dragged in from days out
skin bronzed from living under our sun gifting an extra wrinkle

Bishop

basking warmth, tired muscles
each cell tinglesgiving reason to be alive

Footprints of our four legged creatures off trail
destroying without knowing, unlike us
a soiled tampon lays at the base of our first boulder
what’s happened to the magic; the respect...

it lays quiet
patiently waiting for those still enough to hear

jumping creeks, wet pants, floating pads
but the sun fills, no void here
familiar faces of decades, lifetimes past
do they know how much i cherish them?

and he who struggles so,
we are the same no?

my fingers are opening in a betraying way
undone projects too hard
its been too long without
repeating doesn’t inspire;
need to run wild among the new, to keep the fire alight

Death Valley

As if death had anything to do with it
quite the opposite
my eyes weep unknowingly
silent. awe. such beauty
can’t find that on google earth

sinking on a rolling road into numbers below sea level
black rock lays crumbled, is this death?
white follows, moulding itself into living art
its surreal really

Mother Earth

Moe’s

Groups of strangers up ahead, turn around, avoid, lets hide!
yet, like an empty plate full of hopes and fears
braveness wins
approached
they are quite cool in fact
me too?

came for the climbing
stayed for the thrift stores
.25 cents for a cashmere sweater
better deal then the gentrification that plaques this town and every other
but vocal voices stopped one; at least Moe’s stands safe

no stopping these days
no time, mojo high
every rock needs fondling, touching, holding me in its wake
some too high for kid spotter
some too high for bold kid
feeling small below such big skies

loud dirt bikes coupled with older white men perch upon weird golf like trolley things,
trampling the sage...
blood seeps. muscles ache. time to go
fingers feel stronger, awakened out of slumber
motivation as if 25.

Zion

he wanted to go.
we went for him
with personal curiosities of narrow, closed in walls
red cliffs, stark and bare
stream in morning light
juniper
a tree just so its cold here

grandmother sun arrives
warmth flows so deep
i stop shaking

Bishop returned

deadline to arrive: Sunday at noon for an eagle feather to christen me;
blessing and prayers seen within a glimmer of light
felt within the darkness
smoke covers my eyes, opening them
the immediate darkness entrances
so blessed to experience, thank you Tim.
my heart feels full; while reflecting on a lifetime without
one time turns into necessity

Moe’s did me right
body feels ripe
confidence squished by plastic worlds and life’s ups and downs
returning, returned.

more days like this please
old faces mingled with newbasking warmth, tired muscles, tingling cellsfeeling not dead, but its opposite
roaming aimlessly in a perfect manner

last day sadness
emotions overwhelm between attempts
like a child not wanting to go inside; stomping my feet loudly in denial
its too much to bear, even nowlike a dream ending, even if it wasn’t without its pains
just feels so right is all, better than there even with the orange top who thinks he’s at the head
while really, its us...

Directed North

pang: did you check your oil?only one of us ready to go
procrastinate, procrastinate, procrastinate some more

the freedom of the road is deep within
been fighting it forever
whats wrong with you they ask, can’t stay still?
whats wrong with me, i learn to ask.

Hot springs, like a kettle, just before it boils
Moss bubbles green, so foreign in shade, contrasts the desert sand
natures wonders never fail
better than that glass box we hold in our hands

driving, horizon never ending
feels hard, but right
stopping, looking, going
leaving this dream
for another