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We have moved to The Mountains
We have moved to higher Grounds.
The ridge enclave in mist and cold
Sight is poor as in jackets we fold
Peering below at the stagnant pools
-Covering to brim our hoeing tools.
Ink that was too thick is diluted
Scribbling leaves with water polluted
We’ve moved to scribble on the higher rocks
We’ve move away from the flooding docks
The streets are full of my works I never sold
Stories I thought will never be told
Only, I had already told them and someone else was bold
No- bolder than I ever were my dreams to uphold.
And now these earthquakes has also robbed me
Stolen the duet written by Maya and me
It has rolled and warped it in earths bare dust
Maya thinks I betrayed her most treasured trust.
And so when we couldn’t stand the waters flowing
When into our warm beds the stream came rushing
We took our feet and mind and our family of poets
And moved to higher grounds, we live again as cave poets.
We scribble in the darkest night
With splinters red enough to glow morsel light
We remember the glow of a car parking light
And we press the ochre harder, lips held tight.
We write on the rough walls of our refuge cave
Writing poetry in coded images of flower and dove
We write our fury in dark wooden coal,
-And happiness in a picture of an owl school.
Our hearts have enjoined from its broken bounds
But we still remember with the scariest, loudest heart pounds
And still we write up-up the filling rocks. Filled with words
-Words about the higher grounds and the flooded grounds.
The rocks floods with sentiments of frustration
-of the sired generation now lost in the canyon
-age has caught up to us and the cave is dripping with poetry
-so we pick a box of special pen and one or two poultry
-and we move to higher grounds.
Where the rocks are clean and caves are darker and empty