The mountain stood heavy and warm like piles of packed sand on the beach. Each rock, pebble, dried and baked under the noonday sun. Others cooled, silver and blue, shaded between thin, jagged crescent cracks in the boulders, under tangled shrubs trembling in the hot sluggish wind. She felt all of it as one and as separate elements. The green and brown and orange and yellow were splashed on the mountainside like a Pollock propped against the opaque blue sky, and yet she saw every individual stroke and drip and smudge as clearly as if her fingers could sift through the dirt and pluck out the different trees and flowers and mice skittering across the edge of a rock's cliff.
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Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
