"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity..." --John Muir, 1898

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Meditation: Poem


Unblinking

I lay down on that red, sun-baked sandstone
And wept for you
For me
Unblinking for seasons
Until sand leaves snow moss filled my eyes
And the retinas detached
The bloated darkness torrid sultry at noon
But still you did not come

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