May 5, 2021

Walking alone.

My body is no longer strong enough 

for the Sierra Nevada trails, 

but my mind is. In memory 

I still see the rushing snow-melt water 

rinse the boulders on the North Yuba River. 

The scent of the breeze through tall pines, 

a lizard crossing the trail 

and pausing to look at me, 

a hawk circling slowly, hunting. 

The sound of my footsteps as I walk alone. 


One night past full, the moon rises

Over the tree to my east. A lot of pine,

some oaks, four sycamores standing

in a row like soldiers on guard duty.

In walking meditation, I move slowly

through the trees and out into the open.

Step by step, breath by breath -

moonlight on my face, and finally

looking up, in my eyes.

The Corn Moon, September.



Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

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clay and branches


Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003


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