your feet know this

we are meant to embody this world

completely. to be cried by rain

breathed by wind. your feet

know this.

 

tear yourself from your ledgers,

the pale yellow columns

of figures, the harsh

discipline

of decimals.

 

come walk with those who move

among mountains.

pointless, meaningless

and full.

 

we’ll dance atop the stones like a stone

skips across the water—stop

and listen—air and water

are your very voice

and blood.

 

what else

could they be?

 

step upon a rock and feel your own

resistance; step upon the soil

and feel your life

reverberate.

 

place your heart in your feet, ask them

to guide you. take off your shoes

and feel your toes caressing

the luscious face

of the earth.

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her pain is your pain, her joy

your joy—

what else

could they be?

 

come, walk with those who move among mountains.

come walk your way back into your life,

come breathe yourself complete

and sleep the sleep of stars

 

pointless, meaningless

and full.

 

© J.A. Fink 2013

how can we not love her?

as the first clouds of the coming storm

ride up and over the mountains, catching

and casting the gold of the late day sun,

while in the valleys arrayed to the east

deep cloud-shadows slide up and over

and around, caressing the long curves

of her hills, then fall away, smoothly

like the silk of her dress might slide

from the skin of a lover’s shoulder.

how can we not love her?

this earth. how can we not want

to lay ourselves across the soft rise

of her hills, want to lose ourselves

in the gathering shadows of her valleys,

imbed ourselves in the moist warmth

of her hollows? how can we not surrender

to the cries of her thunder, to the white

heat of her lightning, how

can we not abandon ourselves completely

to the dark and passionate embrace

of her terrible gathering storms?

© Old Bones, New Snow/  J.A. Fink   2013

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