Journal entry one on what is wilderness to me.

A point, a threshold,
A convergence.
A waiting horizon’s line.
Where the supposed inhospitable,
And that, uncultivated,
Reign.
Where the presence and place,
Merge,
In a throng of unspoilt rain.
And the earth,
Waits to grow through,
To be found as one.
The soil and the mind,
Nature and our nature,
Entwined.
Conversing,
In narrow veins of rabbits runs,
And the shattered climbs,
Of goat marked trails.
It is a place,
And, it is a sense,
For the most part,
Lost.