Poetry
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Walking over loose trail rock on the coast of Point ReyesFog dripping from bishop pine like rain A white-crowned sparrow whistles its morning songthere but not seenA black-tailed deer steps onto the trail then passes into the fog beyond the mossy trees
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Legs carry on through ancient trailsTraveled by those who walked before knowing why Vagabonds and explorersTruth seekers, stripping thought down to its frame Head lowered, step after stepThe same question turningUntil only what matters remains Yards turn to milesMiles wear the noise awayAnd somewhere in the quietTruth steps forward Not as an answer spoken loudlyBut…
A Digital Collection 