Stone by stone,we drag and stack,the fallen limbs of yesterdaysnap against restless winds of today. Sturdy knees bend,shadows sway deep blue —our bearbag hangs, makinga moon of its own. Stone by stone,we sit, heavy-hipped,hair pulled awayfrom the damp of our necks. On a Narniac throne of sheetrock,we watch the sun foldbehind the Allegheny River —whereContinue reading “Stone by Stone”
Tag Archives: Primitive Camping
Drip on Me
These branches breathe a heavy sigh“Dripping,” as he put itThey drip the curlingCrack the coughing at each sorrowful Stone-cold inGoodnight skyUnknowing friend keep meCompany keep me Here is where home is builtA fire glowing Growing Going Flames dance to be unseen Just before you stack With sturdy dirty fingersStack the dryness of dead branch treeDryContinue reading “Drip on Me”
The Word Mill 