Tablerock
Looking eastward from Tablerock I realize how the darkness that follows the sun from the east is but the shadow of a mountain reaching out from the west. How interesting that our perceptions change with position — like those moments we fly backwards into the source, and see darkness falling away from the self.
Untitled
The rising, falling into the self, remains of lovers at sea, this hollow tooth we mistake for gold. The blossomed cross, the mahogany vessel, the wake of carnations in our lungs, all drowning when we open our lips and chests to those we love.
