Carve

The winding road map and rigorous crevices
of our ever-changing facades are lined
like an atlas, carving rickety roads
we must journey, like the topography
of the great Rockies of Wyoming,
how succulent river beds organically
slice a meticulous path, a pure beginning
that leads to a delta of smooth self-acceptance,
much like every wrinkle we earn:
and the tears that flow into emerald gullets
where misty memories are seared and buried,
changing us irrevocably...these are lessons
learned, internalized, coveted.

I encompass the satiny snow caps
atop the Grand Tetons, and I solemnly revere
and simultaneously collate our salty scalps
to those shimmering, glistening mountain tops...
it is congruous, and our parched parities
have not dissipated...worldly wisdom
occurs often in discordant design,
ones which we heartily desire,
just like the clay-red ridges,
the way they sculpt a niche,
a specific path that is consistent.

We are conjoined with maternal nature,
and she with us. It is inevitable,
if you open cynical eyes,
reflect upon this grave planet,
how the enveloping grass
transforms into milky mulch,
a mannered metamorphosis,
to compare how our singular bodies
decay and turn into whole earth.
It is the precise process reversed,
and hallowed death becomes rebirth.


* This was completely out of my comfort zone. I had to really dig to get this to pop, and I am not sure it was successful. but it is what it is at this moment in time.