Journal

National Poetry Month April 14

This bright wind,

that’s how it is.

This  quick, cold air

yes,  that’s how it is.

As if that small patch of trees

might grow out of my memories

and fill the world around me,

that’s how it is.

Pennsylvania brown, grey-green

thin winter branches

twisting

wrapping

a universe in their arms

that’s the way

just like that.

And I would be forever

walking quietly through those woods

lightfoot

mysterious walker through the trees

where no one can hear me

as I am invisible

that’s how it is

yes, it’s just that way

as the bright wind weaves itself into

grey cloudy forests deep in the afternoon

as that bright grey wind follows me in the forever afternoon

and I find myself searching for this forever afternoon

in that stillness between day and night

In between time

when I practiced walking

quiet and invisible

listening

forever 

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