me, a table sized Atlas, a pen and a pinch of vitality
here ya go...
The sighing of Atlas
the First sigh
The Pyrenees
Of the moment
Momentarily,
Sliding into the sahara
…there’s independence
Once, within the borders.
Independently,
Traversing the heart-land….
A pristine Himalayan stream
Floods the plains..
Plain and ordinarily
cycles
the unexpected sigh
Appalachian exhaust
Crumbling in longevity
Erosive impulses
Alive in proximity
A robin returns
To these low low lands
A cross section of our heart-land
Leveled into a weathered,
Aged,
Jagged,
Flat,
Rock-solid
Stubborn thickness.
The final sigh
The continent of my divine
Can witness to the purity
Of our soils…
Witnesses to the gospel of the
Grain,
the succulent sweetness of the fruit needs no
pulpit to testify…
