Posts for June 23, 2026 (page 4)

Feet brush the earth
like travelers returning
to a place they’ve never been.
The lake waits,
humming in a language
older than the wind.
The mountains rise
like sleeping giants;
their breath curling into clouds,
their ribs hidden in the pines.
Somewhere, a star falls – but here,
falling is just another form of staying.
The sky blooms open,
rivers of orange and purple.
The burst of colors feel alive,
like veins under translucent skin.
The night stands still
and the lake swallows the stars. 

When life events shatter your persona,
discovering who you are henceforth
your entire being fragments,
is an eye-opening experience.
It is both excrutiatingly painful
and exhilaratingly enlightening

Lincoln Logging
through life
has led Lee 
the poet
to learn
to let his
lyrical words
(let us laugh)
leave his head
when little
else exists
to be said
Legally
lavishly 
lamentably
leaving
lathering
paper below
literary
Pollocks on page
lessons of letters
alighted from
shelves in his
mentally lit
library
left behind
Lee the poet
is awake
alive
learning and
earning from
Lincoln Logging
that life
ain’t always
a story
just littering
that is just
as telling 

going up we work the core
going down we work the calves
hop from one foothold to the next
to avoid a mudslide
grateful to each tree and stone
that keeps us from going over the edge
we look one step ahead
juggle momentum with balance
work up a sweat

dawn and dusk
the light in this city…
green lanterns
flow deep in trees
is this where I’m from?

black cat
stres at sunset
shape shifts
pure gold takes the sky
spreads out tulip pink

at midnight
in old neighborhoods
sidewalks
crunch and vibrate with
dancing water bugs

She watched in awe,
with memory dripping down her face,
freshwater pearls of days long gone.  
Ghosts of the regatta flowed swiftly along the canal,
Venetian splendor etched in her heart.  

Colors of Murano brilliant in the sunlight
beckon her to follow the sails
and find her regal place.  
The gondola of her grandfather disappears around the bend,
covered in fog coasting past the railway station.  

She bends forward
a sail in the wind
nestled in her sandolo mascareta
desperately reaching for the ghost,
unable to touch as it disappears.

Isn’t it incredible
how bodies make room for each other–
In a hug, in the kitchen, in bed,
in the bathroom, reaching for the toothpaste?

I tripped on a slick root