encamped

after the campfire dies    
      
the forest has a way of baptizing        
  your thoughts—its obsidian font        
 revealing you are the captor        
  of your own shadow world—      
  your fears a prisoner      
       
5:00 am      
       
we all want a good story to tell—      
when dawn illuminates        
 the foothills of a cook stove        
 utensil, you'll improvise        
   the landscape of food      
       
the river      
       
sliding against the bank      
  its black water a snake—        
  stealthy; lightning slicing        
its underbelly—the rain      
  shouting, hightail it      
       
origin      
       
we all have a desire        
  to commune with our origin—        
the mountain opens wide its heart      
says, enter into this safe cavern—        
  the one that birthed you first      
       
green thumb      
       
see, we all want our lives      
  to be immaculate; to communicate      
to know how to seed Love—        
but, more importantly, how to weed        
  fear so our roots won't choke        
~