Of Mountain Things
Baptized in the eddies of shimmering creeks.
,Passages are crossed far beyond what's seen.
Clothes pin dolls donning hand-sewn clothes.
Souls made of papyrus; hearts carved in oak.
Mountain folks know things that you'll never know
A few stay forever and others stray for "things"
hymns on gilded meadows -a vow to never leave.
The sun offers heartbeat to all wayward beings
she's a fiery star riding razor-blade dreams
One day she took off down the lower path
a clothespin doll slipping gently from her hand.
Fleeing salvation mountain, never looking back
a daisy chain lay where her heart once bled.
Another red-eyed sunrise, eve taps stiletto black
she's a wingless pigeon cooing for the misty past.
At the end of asphalt rainbows, a mirror full of cracks
a million pricks ago the starry dream collapsed.
In concrete hearts, there's little shade for peace
from which a mountain soul can gracefully retreat.
With a rustle of leaves, she's finally called back home
,, psalms sprinkled over ashen dreams of feral ghosts.
Mountain folks know things that you'll never know.
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