I drag
I scrape my fingernails down the hillsides
I feel the dark soft trees crumble off
moist
under my nails, sun-warmed like the soil in my garden on Thursdays.
Lying in the gorge my body winds its way like the river between the canyon
walls
cooling, soaking in the lapping water. My elbows rest on either side,
propped
luxuriously on the fearsome cliffsthey listen to their own names swelling
between
my tongue and palate Walla Walla Wallula.
Crouched under the enormous firs
shivering in the gusty drizzle as I lick the dark
wet sky (grey) and the trees' own words
Coniferous deciduous.
Here my mind is
empty.
Yet
as I
breathe in and out
Every cell breathes in and out
I breath the hills, rocky, staggered, smooth faces
I breath the childishly unpredictable wet winds, swooping up from the
pavement
I breath in the trees solemn unquestioning.
and I am
full.
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