And It's Yours For The Taking

It’s upwards girl
and you know where to

Remember the valley fog
in September
creeping in with the rivers
translucent and cold
while we drift asleep
beneath a vast blanket
of silent cloud
swallowing the acres of time.
It lays ice on the leaves of aspen
and the weaving roots
of willow,
sinks into delicate veins
of sand and soil
bringing violent frost heaves
to unsettle the stone
that grew lazy
and content.

The fog always ascends
the sunlight burns through the layers
until remain only wisps
like tendrils of smoke, interrupted
dragon dreams by
the peaks of scrubbed hills
turning shades of auburn and gold.
The sagebrush twinkles
like fallen desert stars,
whole meadows
of rice and blue grasses shimmer
and our eyes are awash
with soft glow
in rebirth.

But it stole more
than the dense stillness
and frozen drops of dew.
You too had lifted, the distance
I cannot fathom
and I try to imagine you as
particulate matter
that will fill the seams of what broke
inside
or that you transcend barriers
of little worlds I cannot see
where the fog becomes
just a ghost
or the air
I breathe

How quickly it burns into
the day
disappearing into the quiet
but how slowly
it creeps into us,
the cracks between ancient mountains,
worn valleys and canyons
like stealth
into our unsuspecting lives,
into the crevices of topography
the abysses of memory
lingering
only long enough
to touch
the rough ridges

and let go