LAST SLOPE

Winterlust crinkled along the forest trails,

Camp robbers nuzzled close

For evening’s warmth.

Lte rays leaned here and there

On pine-edged crests

Where tiny springs’ drops

Had run nervously

From white-tressed needles.

Soon my love would stir from sleep,

Sigh and sing again.

The cold challenge would fade away

Under soft caress

Of burdgeoning winds –

My dreams will change anew

The Most Rev. George T. Boileau, S. J.

February 22, 1965

Seattle, Washington

 

Prescience

 

Aquamarine pooled water

Forest green sentinels

dark and light

freckled pine, phthalo, persian, olive.

chlorophyll pulsing blood

life death

slate sky horizontal bands of light

rolling forward to greet me

crows overhead checking me

bothering wind, pushing to get my…

attention…

no caress here. Insistent

pushy ..pushing

on

my

heart…

open harder

open wider

bleed

 

 

By Nazarita Goldhammer