terra incognita

So much empty space
with no centre,
no start
each step might take
you closer to a point
or away from your

Each post you plant
tethers you,
each tack placed in this
only serves to show
its largeness.

Its all distraction-
a leaf,
that sky,
some sounds,
your thoughts,
and a feeling that
each glimmer is there
for you alone.

To look directly at
one specific thing
is impossible
you will need to
capture release
then capture again
to keep your attention

Inadequate luggage
carries meaning
no farther
than the next step
then it is unpacked and
repacked before moving
on somehow fuller,
wider, heavier.

Bread crumbs trail from
carry ons,
curious birds follow
chirping who are you?
and where are you heading?
but staying just
distant enough to escape
the clutch and scrutiny.

I sometimes feel
like the hunter
in a forest that
does not regard me
as a threat
in fact
it does not
regard me at all.

But lifting that rock,
even a centimetre
from the ground will
result in resistance,
small green living creatures
will tug and try
to bring that rock
back to ground.

Insignificant things
have their own gravity
and to not consider
their animus
is foolish
and greedy.

Just because
we can see each
starry pin point
in the night sky
we have no right
to reach out
and touch


Go to the rock. 

Inch up to it,
rise with it.
rub and roil at
it’s base.

Some know where
to stand,
where to pose,
when to step back.

Most don’t.

I smile at each
bewildered gasp
as person
after person loses
footing in the glutenous

If they could
they would
write a name
into its face.

Use their elements.

Turn corners into curves.

Create calligraphic timestamps
only legible
to the watchful.

6 hours from now
this could be underwater.

Or, may be floating
12 feet up.

That squish and squeak
from the red earth
found only on this
would be forgotten.

It must be

a memory adrift.

Ground, then foam,
now sea floor.

When it’s raw face
returns ashore
even seaweed
will be
worn differently.

What was clung to
is now
salt washed and rinsed.

Currents inhale and
exhale change.

Every ebb and flow

It’s history
has made these precarious

and in need of protection.

Even the peregrine hestitate
before landing.

Evidence of breakage-
bare wedges of
impossible gravity
seem to float defying physics

And except for single spindles
of white pine along
it’s scalp and spine
nothing else dares
to rise.

This cycle of
getting to ground,
seeing the past,
settling at bottom
does not feel normal.

good, bad,
cold, stormy,
light, dark
have molded
me too.

A reminder that some things,
elemental things,
can return
and rend us down
until you fall
into them.

And your moon,
or whatever small body
of influence that
orbits you,

knows your only
choice will be