swale home keystone

years in the woods on the bank of an ancient creek,
creek stone boulders my foundation
roots my hair and stairs to the bath under the narrow canyon sky
oaks older than fire
and trails made by deer and human ten thousand years hence
in a meadow by a spring
running down five hundred feet in june
three thousand nights in near wilderness
only populated by hermits misfits vigilantes and nestmakers
walking the creek by moonlight barefoot
how many times
down to the candles in my strawbale bedroom with a stone floor
cool in summer, warm in winter
home




9-15-20