feel 2

skin

the corner of my eye

   the edge

my foot

and yours

   we walk

waving hands skyward

   eyes braving the sun

picking at the clouds

   we stride the walls of ancient straw and mud

have we yet to let the waterfall fall upon our bowed heads

   the horse of mt olympus rears its hoof

 

          sacred flutes haunt the space between the

pine fronds used for shelter at

 

11,000 feet

 

   and then we freeze for

                              the winter

                              waiting

 

            

           leather-the-man and his stony

           warmth 

 

gentle streamlet days, our dance upon the moon