Jan 26, 2021

the years drip time

the heart is wild and hunts 

     among the pines of the sierra nevada   

     like a great gray owl or a red tail hawk  

     the years drip time like a candle drips wax   

along the headwaters of the yuba river   

     the wild heart turns white with age   

     and hides in the deep drifts of snow  


there is no ribbon 

but i imagine it anyway

          her hair hanging down

in front of her sleepy face

as she rises to greet me.


let the old resentments go 

everyone is a teacher 

everything is a clue


if dreams had a flavor 

it would be the taste of your river 

the flavor of your trees


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